Someone To Watch Over Me
by mabelreid
Summary: Sequel to "I'll Be Home For Christmas." Reid and Chriscelia move forward in their relationship and must deal with the aftermath of events in their lives before they met and the events in "I'll Be Home for Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n I began this several weeks ago. It does follow canon, slightly, but will become more AU as the chapters progress. I will be going in an entirely different direction with Reid's mother and her illness than what we saw in "Surface Tension." Please enjoy.**_

Reid found a seat near the window looking out on the airport tarmac. He stretched out his legs and ignored the noise of other passengers around him. He tried not to think about his mother and this new study. If a way could be found for her health to improve, then he had to trust in her physicians.

He looked out the window to see a jet pull into the gate next to his and power down. It was nearly sunset, and the sky was light blue and pink on the horizon beyond the airport. He could see the full moon hanging in the sky and suddenly wondered if Chriscelia could see it out her window. He shut his eyes and felt a little heat in his face for his unexpected romantic thoughts. Still, he couldn't deny that he wished she were there to help him pass the time as he waited for his flight. He wanted to talk to her about the books she'd read and find out if she finished the first draft of her latest book. He wanted to read it. He wanted to drink a fresh cup of coffee and consider her beautiful eyes.

He sighed, stood, and strolled down the hallway to a coffee shop. He found a booth and sat. His server brought him coffee, but he refused food. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Chriscelia.

"Hi," she answered, and her happy tone made him grin.

"Hello, it's Spencer."

"I know, caller id, remember?"

"Right, sorry. I'm a little distracted."

"You on your way home?"

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

"As expected. Mom's setup in the program."

"I know this is an incredibly stupid question, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine; it's just that…"

"What?"

"I – this is the best thing for her, but I feel like I yanked her away from her home."

"You did what you _had_ to do."

"What if I haven't?" What if this sets her back? Am I selfish for wanting to do everything I can to help her? Rossi told me I should spend time with her and not to worry about trying to find a way to cure her. He said I have a finite amount of time with her and being with her would help her more than this study."

"Spencer? What does your gut tell you?"

"It tells me I have to do whatever I can to make her better."

"Then you did the right thing."

Spencer blew out a breath. "How do you know the right thing to say?"

"Because I'm a woman and we know things."

He grinned at her half serious tone; then he chuckled at her words. "My mother says that _all_ the time."

"She must be a wise woman."

"She is. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For understanding that I had to do this right now."

"You're welcome."

"I'd like to see you when I return, and take you on a real date."

"I'd like that too."

"Good."

"So, tell me, how did your visit go, outside of moving her. Is she okay? How is she in general?"

He swallowed against the grateful tears that welled up to block his throat. "Good," he squeaked. "Um, she didn't mind the flight which was great."

"Why?"

"Oh, I forgot I didn't tell you. She's always been afraid to fly, but I think maybe with her confusion, she forgot to be afraid."

"Is it insensitive for me to say I hope you're right."

"No, of course not."

"What else besides fear of flying."

"I told her about you. I hope you don't mind."

She was quiet for a long time.

"Chriscelia?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just surprised. We've only known each other for a couple of weeks. With her confusion, I didn't think you'd want to tell her right now."

"She asked me why I was smiling, and it sort of spilled out."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. I didn't tell her anything shady." He teased.

"Ha, ha."

"She was extremely interested to know you're a published author. She loves to read."

"Was she?"

"Yes."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth, that you're on the bestseller list."

"Number nine," she reminded him.

"You haven't looked at the numbers rankings, have you?"

"No, I did in the beginning, but then I started to lose confidence when I didn't shoot right up to number one like JK Rowling, or someone."

"Well, then I have the honor of telling you that you've risen to number seven this week."

"I guess I better get to work and finish the first draft before my agent and my publisher calls to remind me that I'm only as good as my last book and I need to strike while the iron is hot, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Then I better let you get back to work."

She groaned. "Do I _have_ to?"

"Yes!"

"Dr. Reid, I'm a writer, we procrastinate."

"You do?"

"Okay, not all of us, but I do."

"Why?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I love it, but there's a process involved."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so judgy."

"Judgy," he repeated. "Is that a word?"

"Yes." She said loftily.

"I don't think so."

"Too bad! It's my word."

"I think I need to check my scrabble dictionary."

"No, you don't. If I know you, you have it memorized."

"True, that's how I know you made it up."

"Alright, I admit it."

"So, what's your process?"

"Hm…"

"You said you have a process. I'm _dying_ of curiosity."

He smiled when she snorted in his ear. "Right. Well, I usually write the outline and the first draft in long hand. I find it tough to sit and stare at a computer screen and wait for inspiration to strike."

"I'm not a big fan of technology." He admitted. "So, I get it."

"Also, I like to listen to music when I write. It helps me think."

"May I ask what genre?"

She was quiet for so long, he said. "Chriscelia, you still there?"

"I like eighties big hair metal. Go ahead and laugh."

"Music with a strong beat has been known to increase blood flow, and improve your mood."

"Thank you, Dr. Reid."

"Funny."

They laughed together, and Spencer felt a headache that lurked behind his eyes recede just a little. Then, he saw the clock on the wall behind the bar and sighed. "I better say goodbye. They should be calling my flight in about ten minutes."

"Call me when you get in?"

"I will."

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Chriscelia pulled out her notebook and began to work on the last chapter of her current novel. She made a deal with herself to write a least a thousand words that day. She knew how it would end but getting it down on paper was proving difficult as her concentration was shot after talking to Spencer.

She pushed back from her desk an hour later and shook out her hand. Sometimes the words came so fast her hand cramped. She looked over what she'd written and was glad that no one else had to worry about deciphering her chicken scratch handwriting. Her mother had been on her case about her handwriting up until she died. "You should practice," her mother used to say. "How do you expect anyone to read it?"

Chriscelia always reminded her mother that it was the twenty-first century and everyone communicated by email and text message.

"I don't write checks anymore," she remembered telling her mom. "You can pay for everything online or with a credit or debit card."

She sat back and stretched her arms over her head. Thinking about her mother made her sigh and as she always did, wish for more time with her. It was time for a break. She'd read over what she wrote and make the necessary changes to the dialog.

An hour later, she dropped her pencil and pulled off her glasses. She looked at the clock and saw that it was coming up on noon. As if the organ were aware of the time, her stomach growled irritably. She sighed and thought about ordering a pizza, then decided she needed to eat healthy for a change. She also decided that she needed to get some exercise.

After a sensible lunch, she changed into workout gear, and on impulse grabbed her coat and hat. She'd take a walk outside instead of walking on the treadmill. It was cold, but no snow and getting out of the apartment was just what she needed. She hurried down the stairs and out the door, putting her headphones on to listen to a recorded book on her phone.

The air smelled cold and clean. She breathed it in and headed to the sidewalk. The park was three blocks north of the apartment, so she turned in that direction and set off, listening to the latest Dean Koontz book. The voice of the narrator was engaging and made the walk to the park enjoyable instead of a chore. She felt the stress of the last couple of months lifting off her shoulders, and she smiled.

Just as she entered the park, her phone signaled a call. It was Spencer's number. "Hey," she greeted. "you back."

"Yeah."

"I'm glad, how was your trip."

"As good as it can be flying coach."

"You're just spoiled by the company jet," she teased.

"You're right."

"So, what's the plan now?"

"I thought we agreed we'd go out on a real date when I returned."

His statement and question raised her heart rate more than the effort of her walk. "Yes, we did."

"I have the afternoon free. How about I pick you up in an hour, and we do something this afternoon?"

"Hm, I'm not sure you've giving me sufficient notice, Dr. Reid."

He was silent for a minute, and her heart began to sink, then he said. "Are you playing hard to get?"

"Perhaps."

"Good, no one's ever played that with me."

She laughed and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. "I've never had the chance to play hard to get."

"I guess we _both_ missed out."

"Nevertheless, Dr. Reid. I think my calendar is booked until next month."

"Next month," He squeaked. "I don't like this game."

She chuckled and then cleared her throat resolutely.

"You're not supposed to like it; that's the point. It's supposed to increase your desire to spend time with me."

"We haven't seen each other for a week," Reid squeaked. "Believe me, I desire you."

It was her turn to go silent. Did he just say that he wanted her? She liked him very much, and they'd had a couple of intense moments since they met, but he'd said they should take it slow.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong," he said. "I mean I do like you and – I'm saying all of this wrong, Chriscelia."

"It's okay. I do know what you mean. Why don't we start over?"

"Alright. I'll pick you up in an hour if that's okay with you."

"Yes, I've missed seeing you."

"Good."

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise."

The playfulness had returned to his tone, and it made her grin as she turned back toward her apartment.

"What should I wear?"

"Something casual," was all he'd say.

"Sounds good. I'll see you in an hour then."

"I'm looking forward to it."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n please enjoy the cameo appearance of my favorite NCIS agent. Even though they never mention it anymore, I like to think that Thom E. Gemcity is on the bestseller list in the fiction universe.**_

Chriscelia's hands shook as she waited for Spencer. His accidental admission that he desired her, made her heart pound and her head extremely light.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_

She paced the living room, wondering where he'd take her for their date. She couldn't think of anything he might choose, and that realization distracted her from her previous thoughts.

A knock at the door made her jump. "Get a grip," she whispered. "you're supposed to be playing it cool."

She squared her shoulders, let her arms hang at her sides and pasted what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face. The fake smile turned real when she opened the door and feasted her eyes on Spencer.

"You look great."

"Thanks, so do you."

"You ready to go?"

"Um, yes."

She stepped forward, but Spencer blocked her way. "Don't you want a coat?"

"Oh, right."

She hurried to the sofa and snatched up her coat and scarf. "Thanks. I think I'm losing my mind. "Oh… sorry, Spencer."

"Why are you apologizing?" He wondered as they headed for the stairs.

"Joking about losing my mind when you just returned from seeing your mom, hello insensitive."

"That never crossed my mind. In fact, I've been known to laugh at my mental lapses. I learned early that you have to laugh at yourself if you want to maintain good mental health."

"True."

"I know you'd never hurt me on purpose with a deliberate, callous remark about my mom."

" _No_ , of course not."

"Then don't worry about it." He smiled at her, and she grinned back.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Nope," he said casually as he held open the door to the parking lot. "I _said_ it's a surprise."

"It's a good thing for you that I like surprises."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They'd reached his old Volvo, and Chriscelia stopped at the front of the car. "Is this yours?"

"Yes." He looked at her like he was expecting her to laugh at him.

"What?"

"Most people roll their eyes when they see it."

"Why? I think its… unique."

"Are you trying to be nice?" He wondered.

"No, I think it fits your personality. You did say you like old things. Why not cars as well?"

"Most people don't see it that way."

She shrugged as she got into the car, and he started the engine. "I think if you care about someone, you pay attention to the things they like."

"I agree."

Spencer pulled out into traffic. They were quiet until he turned onto a familiar street. "Why are we going to the mall?"

"It's a surprise," he said, again.

She narrowed her eyes at him as he drove up the long entrance drive to "The Shops at West Mclean," shopping mall and began to hunt up a parking space. At least that's what she thought was doing until he pulled into a space across the drive from Barnes and Noble instead of the main entrance to the mall.

"What's going on?" She asked as he opened her door.

"You'll see."

Her eyes found an announcement board in the window as they entered the store. "Oh, my God… I don't believe this."

The poster showed the cover of Thom E. Gemcity's latest novel and a photo of the author, along with an invitation for all to a reading and book signing.

"How did you know I love his books?"

"Because you have them on your bookshelves."

"You're very observant, Mr. Profiler."

He smirked and opened the door for her. "After _you_ , my lady."

Barnes and Noble was like the candy store for Chriscelia. Rows and shelves of books spread out like a feast of fat things. A table at the front of the store had stacks of the current bestsellers, including her last book.

"What are you thinking?" Spencer asked quietly as they made their way through to the back of the store.

"I was just thinking about the best-seller table. When I was a girl, I fantasized about coming into a bookstore and seeing my name on a cover."

"It's not your name," he reminded her only half seriously.

"I know, but I know it's me and that's okay."

They joined the crowd sitting in rows of plastic chairs and listened to the author read an excerpt from his book, then joined the line at the end. "Maybe we can talk to him without someone else shoving us out of the way," Spencer said.

"I don't mind waiting if you don't,' she admitted. "This is so great."

"What did you think of the excerpt?"

"I think it sounds like another winner."

"Me too."

"I still can't believe you thought of this."

"I'm a fan," Spencer admitted. "When saw the books on your shelves, then saw the advertisement for this book signing, I knew it'd be a nice surprise."

"It is, better than nice," Chriscelia gushed. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome."

When they reached the table, the author looked up, and his eyes went wide. "Dr. Spencer Reid. You're the _last_ person I expected to see today."

"It's good to see you, Tim."

"You too."

"I wanted you to meet someone."

"You know each other," Chriscelia interpreted.

"Yes."

"You're Christina Harris," Tim exclaimed. "Delilah's going freak when I tell her I met you."

"Delilah's his fiancé," Spencer put in.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

They shook hands and Tim signed their books. "How's Penelope?" Tim wanted to know.

"She's doing well. We're all adjusting to the changes on the team. It's been a little rough."

"Yeah, last year wasn't stellar for us at NCIS."

"I heard about Tony. Is it true he and Ziva have a daughter?"

"Yeah, can you believe it?"

"No. I can't picture it."

"I think it was a complete shock to all of us."

"I can't imagine finding out I'm a father, and that the woman I love is dead all on the same day."

Tim shook his head. "I think he was in shock for a while, but it helped that we were able to take out the man that killed her."

They were silent for a minute, then Chriscelia said. "Wait, you said NCIS," she directed at Tim.

"It's my day job. Thom E Gemcity's a pen name. My real name is Timothy McGee, Agent McGee with NCIS, but I trust you to keep it a secret."

She looked around. There were a few people milling around, but none seemed to be in earshot, although some were staring at them as if wondering what they meant to the author that he spent so much time talking to them.

"Then you should know that my real name is Chriscelia Moore."

Tim smiled. "I'll keep it to myself."

"How did you two meet?"

Tim and Spencer looked at each other. "It was a case. A serial killer was taking out Marines in DC."

"Oh, I read about that. You solved it," she directed at Spencer.

"Well, I-"

"Yes," Tim said, giving Spencer a look. "Thanks to him, we were able to take the killer down without firing a shot."

"Ah, yeah, " Spencer agreed.

"I'm impressed."

"We should go," Spencer said. "I'm sure you're busy, and I don't want a riot if the other fans think we're monopolizing your time."

"I need to go to the ladies' room," Chriscelia said. "I'll be right back."

"I'm impressed," Tim said after Chriscelia walked away. "So you're dating Christina Harris. How did you meet?"

"At the airport. We ran into each other. I almost knocked her over."

"A bit rom-com cliché," Tim observed with a smile.

"True, but whatever works."

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Chriscelia looked at her face in the mirror as another woman entered the bathroom. She couldn't believe that Spencer knew Thom E. Gemcity, or that the author's day job was as an NCIS agent, and that Spencer knew him from a case. It had to be the best first date she'd ever had. She washed her hands and patted at her hair. Her cheeks were a slightly pink, so she splashed water on her face. The second woman in the bathroom left her stall and smiled politely at Chriscelia as she washed her hands. Chriscelia turned and knocked her purse off the counter. Her container of Altoids flew out and across the tiles to the exit.

"Sorry," she said to the woman. "I'm terribly clumsy."

The woman picked up the Altoids and handed them to Chriscelia. "Here."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The woman tilted her head. "You look familiar."

"Oh, well I'm told I have one of those faces."

"No, that's not what I mean. I saw your picture. You're Christina Harris."

"Yes."

"Wow, I love your books," she held up a bag. "I'm sorry to bother you, but do you think you can sign the book I just bought."

"Ah, sure."

She signed the book for the woman who gave her name as Carrie. After the fan had left the room, she realized that Spencer probably wondered what was taking her so long. She rushed out of the room and hurried around the corner to the self-help section.

"Hey," said a voice. Spencer stood near one of the shelves of books.

"Hi, sorry that took me so long. You ready to go."

"Do you mind if we stay here for a few minutes. I want to see if I can find new reading material for my mom?"

"No, of course not."

"I'm sure you never had a man ask you to help them shop for their mother while you're on a date."

Chriscelia laughed. "It's okay. I was going to ask you if you'd minded if I check out what's new in the fiction aisles."

"I guess we think alike."

"Oh, you think so."

Spencer chuckled. "I do."

"Then I think we should find something for your mom."

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"Thanks for a great afternoon," Chriscelia said as Spencer walked her to her door.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I did." She unlocked the door and turned to face him. "I hope we get to see each other again soon, Spencer."

"Me too."

"Do you want to come inside?"

"Yes, I'd like that," he smiled.

He was sitting on the couch when she returned from the kitchen with two mugs. "One coffee with three sugars, no cream for you and peppermint tea with honey for me."

Spencer made a face at her selection of beverages. "I like tea, but not peppermint. It's too bitter for me."

"It's good if you let it steep for at least ten minutes with two bags instead of one, and a teaspoon of honey."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Thanks again for the great afternoon. It was fun." She kicked off her shoes and tucked up her legs.

"Even meeting a fan in the ladies' room."

She laughed. "That was a first for me, but she was nice, so I don't mind."

"Does that mean I'll have to share you when we go out in public?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think that will happen again."

"You never know, after all, you moved up two spots on the bestseller list."

"I remember."

"You're a talented writer, Chriscelia. Never forget that."

His eyes, serious and kind made her pulse trip a little. Chills ran down her neck to her back, as she breathed in the smell of her tea, coffee, and Spencer.

"Sometimes it's hard to believe, despite being published twice. Look at Tim; he has a day job that makes a difference, and he's a published writer with tons of fans. He's a nice guy with lots of confidence. I'm just me."

"Where is all this coming from?"

"I don't know. I guess since Jimmy LaSalle tried to do whatever he wanted to do, I've thought there must be something about me that's wrong."

"You know that's not true."

She twisted her hair around her finger and bit her lower lip. "I want to have your confidence, but I'm not sure anymore. Why did he decide to obsess about me? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Chriscelia. LaSalle's mentally ill. He's locked away where he can't hurt you, and he's getting the help he needs."

"I know, and I don't care. I wish he were in a deep dark hole, rotting away forever. Even though you stopped him from hurting me, I still feel like he did. Why do I feel that way?"

He put his coffee cup on the table and reached out to embrace Chriscelia. "I promise it will get better, Celia."

"What did you call me?"

"Celia. Is that okay?"

"Yes, I love it."

"I can't tell you why LaSalle decided to stalk you. All I know is that he didn't succeed in his plan. You're alive, and he never touched you. You're a kind, funny, and beautiful woman."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm not beautiful. I'm ordinary, and I need to lose thirty pounds. I –"

He stopped her by kissing her. "You are beautiful just the way you are. I don't want you to change."

She wiped at her eyes and laughed. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm acting like a neurotic twelve-year-old. I _promise_ I'll get my act together."

"Hey, you don't have to apologize. You've been through a rough few weeks. You lost your dad and then LaSalle. You need to give yourself a break."

She drew in a long breath. "I guess you're right."

"I am," he said resolutely, which made her laugh.

"I think I better go."

She nodded. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'll be looking forward to it."

He kissed her again. "Get some sleep."

"Yes, sir."

She leaned against the door after he left and began to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n thank you all for your kind reviews. Thanks to my wonderful beta for all her hard work in making sure my writing is free of errors._**

Reid sighed as he added sugar to his first cup of tasteless BAU coffee. Why did coffee made in federal buildings and police stations always taste like vinegar? He took a cautious sip and shook his head. It would have to do.

"Hello, Reid," Tara greeted his as he hurried back to his desk.

"Hi," he waved. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How was your trip?"

"I'm going to use the words productive and happy to describe it."

"I'm glad."

"My mother recognized me, which is all that I can ask."

"Hey, Spence." JJ greeted as she entered the bullpen with Garcia. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too, sweet cheeks."

"Thanks, guys. I'm glad to be back, too."

"How's your mom?"

"She's doing good, JJ. Thanks for asking."

"I'm so happy for you, Spence." Garcia and JJ both hugged him while Tara watched them.

"Did you see Chriscelia?"

Reid rolled his eyes. " _Yes,_ I did, Garcia."

He pulled a case file from the teetering stack to his left and opened it, resolutely.

" _And_?" Garcia probed.

"And? What?"

"What happened?"

"Not that it's any of your _business_ , but nothing happened. We spent time together. _End_ of story."

He almost laughed at the mutual disappointment in JJ and Garcia's eyes and the amusement on Tara's face.

He put aside the file and reached for his favorite pen. "Oh, by the way, Tim McGee asked me to tell you all hello."

"You saw Tim? Garcia exclaimed. "Where? How is he? How's Delilah?"

"Breathe, Pen!" JJ laughed.

"What is going on out here?" Emily asked.

They all looked left to see their Unit Chief had entered the room with her coffee mug in one hand and a questioning face.

"Hey, Sunshine." Garcia greeted.

"Reid was telling us about his time off," Tara explained. "JJ and Garcia were attempting to obtain details about Chriscelia."

"I see."

"He's not talking."

"Hm, is that so?"

"Yes?"

Emily raised her eyebrows as Spencer sat calmly at his desk and watched the interaction between the women.

"As your Unit Chief, I can't condone interrogating a teammate." Emily began.

"Emily, we didn't mean to interrogate him," JJ said.

"As your friend," Emily continued, "I think a little curiosity never hurt team dynamics."

" I've read several articles that contradict that line of thinking. Sometimes too much information about your personal life shared with colleagues can be detrimental to your career." Reid informed them.

Emily, JJ, Garcia, and Tara shared amused smiles. Spencer sat back and watched them with a smirk. "So," he continued. "May I return to the stack of work on my desk?"

"If that's the way you want to play it," Emily said.

"It is the way I want to play it."

"I'd love to let all of you catch up on paperwork, but we have a case."

Reid sighed and climbed to his feet. "Then we better get to work."

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Chriscelia had just finished putting away her purchases from her trip to the grocery store and was storing away her cart when her phone rang. She smiled so hard her face hurt because the number on the caller ID was for Spencer.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hello, Chriscelia."

"How's your first day back?"

"You make it sound like I've been gone for months," he joked.

"I'm just worried, that's all."

"It's fine. As expected, the girls tried to interrogate me about us."

"I'm sure interrogating is a _strong_ word." She went to the living room and curled up on her couch.

"You don't work with them every day," he pointed out. "I love my team, but sometimes they can be a bit… over enthusiastic."

"I think they want to protect you. I'm a new element in your life. We haven't known each other for long, and maybe they think I'm going to do something to hurt you."

"You're right, we haven't known each other very long, but if I thought you'd hurt me, I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

"I'm glad to hear it because I feel the same way about you."

"Listen, the reason I called is that I have an out of town case."

'Ah no, I hope it isn't too horrible."

"Let's just say I'll probably be gone for a couple of days, at least."

"I do understand, Spencer. You do what you have to do."

"Thank you for understanding."

"Of course, I understand, but you're welcome. Be careful, okay. I want you in one piece the next time I see you."

"I was going to say that to you," he replied.

"I will. I promise."

"Bye, Chriscelia."

"Goodbye, Spencer."

She sighed and returned to her work. She had a kitchen to clean and laundry to do. She'd do what she needed to do and try not to miss Spencer or worry about him.

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On the jet returning to DC, Reid lay on the bench, trying to get some sleep, but he couldn't lure in the elusive Morpheus. He couldn't stop thinking about the case and all the lives ruined. He sat up, ran his hands through his hair and stared out the window.

"Want to play poker?"

He looked over at his Unit Chief and raised his eyebrows. "If you don't mind losing."

"I see your overconfidence hasn't waned in the last five years."

He grinned at her, and the blood of the last case began to recede into the lockbox where he tried to keep the memories of his job.

"Just because you beat me once, doesn't make me overconfident, it makes me the better player."

Her eyebrows went up, and she was about to speak when Luke Alvez returned from getting a cup of coffee. "What's going on?"

"Emily wants to play poker with me."

"Oh, I like a good game of poker."

"You're welcome to play if you like," Reid said casually.

"I'd be careful if I were you," Emily put in. "Spencer's a card shark."

"Excuse me," Spencer defended. "I _believe_ you're overstating a bit."

"No, I don't think so. Reid grew up in Vegas," She directed to Luke who joined her across from Reid. "And, he counts cards."

"A challenge," Luke said. "I think I'll take my chances. What are the stakes?"

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"So, what happened next," Chriscelia wanted to know.

They sat at a small table near a huge window at the front his favorite little diner. They'd agreed on it for coffee and cheesecake after dinner because it was a little out of the way place he'd found. There were several other patrons, but no one bothered them as they talked and laughed.

"I took him for every pretzel he had."

She smirked at his obvious pride in fleecing the new guy for snack food and wondered how much he could win at one of the high-stakes poker games she'd seen while channel surfing one Saturday afternoon.

"Nice! You didn't let the new guy win. Shame on you, Spencer, that's _not_ very sportsmanlike."

"I fail to see why letting him win is sportsmanlike. It just sets him up for disappointment in the future. Also, Emily warned him about me. What good is it to let him win after she throws me under the bus?"

Chriscelia almost laughed at his serious observation of the situation. "I don't know," she stated loftily. "I think you like to win at any cost."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, but I'm surprised your teammates agree to play when they know you count cards."

He shrugged. "It's a way to depressurize. Emily said once that matching wits with me made her forget her stress."

"I can see that."

He took a bite of his slice of cheesecake and chewed thoughtfully for a minute. "I like winning, but I like spending time with my friends that don't involve the job."

She reached over and touched his fingers. "I can't imagine doing your job. I think you have to do what you need to do to cope."

"We all have our release valves outside of poker on the jet. For example, Rossi likes to cook, JJ likes to spar at the gym or go running, and Garcia loves acting in plays, spending time with Sam and counseling the victims of violent crimes. I like chess, reading, and playing my keyboard."

"Oh," Chriscelia swallowed hard and pointed her fork in his direction. "You haven't played for me yet."

He blushed bright red. "We've only known each other for three weeks, Chriscelia."

She sipped her cooling tea. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm not that good."

"I highly doubt that."

He watched her eyes as she studied him expectantly. "All right," he sighed. "I'll play for you."

She put down her fork. "Let's go then."

"Right now," he squeaked, and she giggled.

"Yes, _right_ now. There's no time like the present."

"Since when are you so motivated."

Her eyebrows went up. "Just because I procrastinate, doesn't mean I can't be motivated by something that truly interests me, and you interest me, Dr. Spencer Reid."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

She stood up and crooked her finger at him. "Think of it this way. You play for me, and I'll share something with you that you don't know about me."

It was his turn to lift his eyebrows in interest. "What don't I know?"

"Oh no," she shook her head and grabbed her coat. "No profiler tricks, mister. I want to hear you play."

He got reluctantly to his feet. "I give up."

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When he opened the door to his apartment, she remembered that she hadn't been her since the Jimmy Lasalle takedown. Her stomach roiled, and she almost took a step back from the door.

"Hey," Spencer said. "What's wrong?"

She smiled at him. "I think the cheesecake was too much after dinner; I'm not feeling that well."

"Do you want me to take you home."

"No. I'm not letting you get away with putting off your concert."

"Are you sure?"

The obvious concern in his beautiful puppy dog eyes almost made her tell him everything, but she bit down and smiled. "I'm sure. I think some music is just what the doctor ordered."

He rolled his eyes. "No pun intended, of course."

"Nope."

He led her to the couch, then went a bit reluctantly to his keyboard. His shyness about playing for her pushed out the feelings of fear that crowded her mind. She smiled again, this time with more encouragement and warmth.

"What should I play?" He asked her as he flipped a switch on the keyboard.

"Why don't you surprise me."

He did surprise her by choosing to play one of her favorite classical pieces, a Chopin Piano Concerto. She sat back and closed her eyes as the notes soared around her. It was melancholy and sad, but beautiful at the same time. Chills ran over her spine from her head to her feet, and she forgot about Jimmy LaSalle for a few minutes.

"Chriscelia?" She opened her eyes to see that Spencer stared at her with questioning eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she breathed. "That was so beautiful. You play – oh I don't know how to describe it. It was like listening to angels."

"I'm not –"

"Don't say you're not good," she argued, and he flinched back a little at the passion in her voice. "I loved it, so learn to take a compliment, okay."

"Okay," he agreed.

She wiped at the tears produced by the music. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Chriscelia, please tell me what's wrong."

She heard the echoes of the music in her mind, and for some reason it made her feel brave. "I lied when I said I felt sick. I walked through the door, and I remembered the last time I was here and – "

He hurried to her and took her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about Jimmy LaSalle. Of course, it'd be hard for you to come back here. Please forgive me for not realizing that –"

She squeezed his hand so tight, it hurt. "Stop, Spencer. It's not your fault. I'm just feeling a bit… off."

"You won't feel better overnight," he reminded her. "It's going to take time. I need you, to be honest, though and tell me how your feeling."

She reached up and stroked his face. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm trying to get used to all this."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm here to help you if you need it."

"Even if I freak out again."

He laughed. "You didn't freak out."

"Maybe just a little."

"Okay," he agreed, and she squeezed his hand till he tried to pull away. "Ow…"

"You're supposed to say, "Why no, Chriscelia, you didn't freak out at all, you're completely stable." She teased.

"Oh, sorry, Ms. Moore."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't think you're sorry." He only stared at her until her cheeks went pink. "By the way, how did you know that Chopin piece is my favorite?"

"I didn't. I played it because I like it and I've been practicing ever since I met you."

"You have," she bit back tears, this time of happiness.

"Yes, I figured out early on that you'd ask me to play."

"Well, thank you, kind sir. Our date was the best I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad."

He kissed her until she pushed away and stood. "I think you better take me home."

"You're right."

She looked at him as he rose and pulled on his coat. Something like fear flared again in her stomach, and suddenly she couldn't wait to get out of the apartment. "Come on," she said. "Time for me to go home."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Chriscelia carried a fresh mug of hot chocolate to her living room and settled down to binge watch her favorite show on Netflix. She considered the two thousand words she'd written that morning payment for a few hours in front of the television. They'd been hard won words as her ability to concentrate on the project she owed her publisher was waning in the wake of meeting Spencer. It was like trying to finish math homework when she wanted to play. Writing had never seemed like work until her attention had become divided by the advent of a man like Dr. Spencer Reid.

She sighed, and turned her attention to the television and tried to stop thinking about her looming deadline and the fact that if she just dug in and finished this book, she could turn her attention to the new romantic adventure she wanted to write.

 _You haven't asked Spencer about basing the hero on him. You know he won't like it._

She tried not to listen to the voice of reason in her head. In the month, since they'd met, their time together surpassed her expectation, but with the appearance of her stalker, and his worry over his mother, she hadn't wanted to burden him with her desires to immortalize him as her new hero.

 _You're chicken._

She turned up the volume on her big screen and let the theme song override what her inner voice wanted to tell her. Instead, she sipped her hot chocolate and arranged her blanket around her body. She was warm, had her favorite treat, and she had the right to escape from her problems.

The slide from awareness to sleep felt like the space of a few seconds. In one moment, Chriscelia pulled her favorite blanket around her shoulders and the next she stood in a huge, empty, but slightly familiar space. The room was devoid of color as, if she'd stepped into an old movie from the last century. The lack of color made everything look the same, from the chairs in rows back to back to the huge windows that lined the walls. She took a hesitant step forward and flinched when her feet echoed hollowly into the silence. The hallway that stretched in front of her didn't have a termination, at least, not one she could see.

"Hello," she called, and shivers wracked her body when her voice seemed to fade away as though enveloped in cotton.

She could feel eyes on her back as though someone watched her. She didn't want to turn around because if she did, the eyes might become a face, and then another person.

"Chriscelia."

The voice was like ice cracking on a rural pond in the middle of a January thaw, sharp as a knife and as loud as a gunshot.

She jumped and turned to see a figure standing near one of the rows of chairs about ten feet from her. "Who are you?"

"You know me, my sweet. Come to daddy!"

She screamed because the figure had no eyes. His features ran together like melted candle wax. He reached out a hand for her and took a shambling step toward her. She turned and ran. A branch of the hallway went right, and she dashed around the corner. Something stepped out of the darkness broken only by the dim light from the windows. "You can't escape me, my sweet."

She stumbled to a stop and nearly fell over an abandoned suitcase sitting in the middle of the floor. "Go away," she ordered breathlessly. "You can't be here."

"I'm _always_ here, you little bitch. I'm going to teach you to mind me."

"No," she screamed and ran back the way she'd come.

This time the hallway went left, and she turned the corner without stopping to think and ran straight into the man with no face. "I told you, I'll teach you to mind your manners, my sweet."

"No," she pushed him with all her might, and he let go, giving in so easily, that she stumbled back and fell to the tile floor.

He stood over her and waited until she climbed to her feet. He didn't move when she began backing away. "It won't do to run, Chriscelia. I'll always find you, no matter where you hide."

He suddenly shambled forward like some ghost from a black and white horror movie. She screamed, turned, and began to run. The hallway elongated and then snapped back into place, but she didn't gain ground. Now she could hear her pursuer catching up to her, his breath sobbing in and out of his throat.

From the corner of her eye, another black hallway lit with white lights that cast long shadows over the walls. Her feet nearly went out from under her when she decided spontaneously to turn left. She stumbled, nearly fell again, and ran forward. This time the hallway ended as a hand fell on her shoulder and tried to spin her around.

"Why are you running, little girl?"

"Don't touch me!"

She flailed out with one hand and shoved at him. Her hand slid into his chest like soft toffee. She cried out and yanked her hand free. She stumbled back as the figure tried to grab her. "Go away! Leave me alone."

"I can't leave, Chriscelia. You won't let me. I'll always be with you."

She backed away and right into a chair that sat inexplicably in the middle of the hallway. She fell to the floor and rolled to her back. "Please go away."

"We can't go away."

Another phantom materialized next to the first. She froze, unable to get to her feet as a third and then a fourth figure wavered into being around her. "Go away, please!"

One of the lights dimmed, brightened, then dimmed, and returned to full force as two more figures appeared and circled Chriscelia. She climbed to her feet and tried to look everywhere at once. "You're not real; you're just a dream. I can make you disappear."

"We'll leave when you learn your lesson."

"No, you'll leave now."

She closed her eyes and began to count to ten. _When I get to ten and open my eyes, you'll be gone._

She opened her eyes at ten, and she was alone. She looked left, right, and turned in circles. She stood in a white room with golden light shining so bright; it nearly overpowered her eyes. "Hello," said a familiar voice.

She whirled around, and Spencer strolled out of the light with a tiny smile, his messenger bag over one arm and mussed hair falling into his eyes.

"Spencer." She ran forward and hugged him as hard as she could. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm not real," he said.

"You're not the first one to say that."

"Then you know I'm a manifestation of your subconscious."

"Yeah," she stepped back from him. "I've been doing research on lucid dreaming. I guess I've absorbed more than I thought."

"You should start a dream diary, Chriscelia. You'll remember more of your dreams."

"I'll take that into consideration."

She began to giggle. Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "What's so funny?" He asked.

"Here I am talking to myself in the form of a man I met a few weeks ago. I guess that means I'm a bit obsessed."

Spencer shrugged. "Sometimes a little obsession is good for the soul."

"You're just saying that because I'm trying to rationalize all of this," she indicated the white room and the bright, golden light around them.

"Perhaps," he tugged her into his arms and held her tight. "Maybe you're just trying to love yourself."

She outright laughed, and relief at escaping the demons of her subconscious made her knees tremble.

"I'm glad you said that."

"I'm happy you think so."

His face shimmered and flickered like an old television program. It changed from color to black and white. She jerked away and stepped back as Spencer melted into one of the faceless phantom men and the lights went out around her.

"I've got you, little girl," whispered the phantom. "You can't escape."

She screamed, thrashed, and her eyes opened to her living room with her television showing the end of the episode. She looked at the time on her phone and saw that only thirty minutes had passed since she'd sat down with her hot chocolate and favorite blanket.

"God," she said and began to shake. She pulled the blanket tighter around shoulders. "It was just a dream," she said. "This is the real world."

Her phone beeped, and she almost fell off her sofa in shock. The caller id showed Spencer's name and number, but instead of happiness and excitement, fear and anxiety ruled her emotions. She let it ring without answering it. Instead, she left it on her end table and hurried out of the living room to the bathroom. Half an hour later, she'd showered and dressed in actual clothes instead of sweat pants and a tee shirt. She had a deadline coming up for her book and needed to get back to work. Instead of turning right to the hall and her office, she went left and picked up her phone. The notifications told her she had a missed call and one voicemail.

She put down the phone, walked away, stopped at the doorway, and went back to grab the phone. Ridiculous! Spencer wasn't the phantom of her dreams. He was kind and gentle and understanding. To fear him was utterly crazy. He had saved her from Jimmy after all. Spencer was the hero, not the villain.

"Dreams are symbolic," she reminded herself sternly. "Stop acting like a scared little girl and call him back."

She curled up on her bed and called him back without listening to the voicemail he'd sent. "Hey," she said when he answered. "Sorry, I missed your call."

"Hi," he said softly.

"What's wrong, Spencer?"

In the month, they'd known each other; she'd never heard such sadness in his voice. His distress pushed away her fear of him.

"I got a call from Houston. My mother's not making any progress in the program."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Spencer. What can I do?"

"I have to go see her. I'm leaving later today. I wanted you to know I'll be gone and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"Are you sure you'll be okay there alone?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, but I'm glad I met you, Celia. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't a part of my life."

"Spencer, you're the one that saved me."

"I guess we need each other."

"You know I'll always be here. If you need to talk, you can call me anytime. I wish I could go with you."

"I wish you could accompany me, but with my mom's condition…"

"She wouldn't react well to meeting someone new."

"You're more understanding than you should be."

"I'm as understanding as I need to be."

She thought she could hear a bit of a smile in his voice and it made her tingle from her scalp to her toes.

"Now, before I go, tell me what's wrong."

She jolted, then sighed. "I'm not going to ask you how you knew, _profiler_."

"Celia!"

She loved his shortened version of her name, but his exasperation made her shake her head. "It's nothing, Spencer, just a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"We'll talk when you're back."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You need to concentrate on your mom. I love that you're concerned, but you need to think about her. I'm going to be fine."

She heard him sigh heavily. "I hate that I can't be here for you or my team. I'm leaving them in the lurch just at the time they need all-hands-on-deck."

"Your mom is more important than all of us, Spencer. She needs you. We'll get along without you. Anyway, there is such a thing as the telephone."

He chuckled a little which warmed her heart. "I suppose you're right."

"I am right. Now, go to your mother. She needs you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't laugh at me," Chriscelia directed, but she wanted to smile.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"I have to go, but I'll call you later."

"You better, because I want to know _everything_."

"Thanks, Celia."

"You're welcome. Be safe."

"I will."

She ended the call and moved to sit with her back against the headboard. She closed her eyes and tried not to dwell on the terrible sadness in Spencer's voice. If only there were something she could do to help.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Spencer dropped his bag on his sofa and went directly to his bedroom. He stripped off his clothing, left it lying on the floor and hurried into the bathroom. He started up the shower and stepped in despite the cold temperature. He barely felt the cold on his skin because rage heated his blood to the point of making his head feel like it might explode from the pressure. Finally, the water heated and he let if pound on his skull to block out the events of the last week playing in his head. If he let it get to him, he'd cry, and he was tired of shedding tears over something he couldn't control. Still, tears of frustration did work their way to the surface to roll over his cheeks and blend with the water from the shower. For once in his life, he understood how Morgan could explode and attempt to put his fist through a wall. Later, he pulled on his coat and gloves. He hurried out to his car and drove to a beautiful home in McLean. He knocked on the door and pasted a smile on his face when Savannah answered.

"Hi, Spencer. How are you? How's your mother? "

"I'm okay. She's fine right now," he prevaricated. "How are you?"

"Good, happy."

"I'm sorry to come here without calling, but I wonder if Derek's here."

"Yes, he's in the nursery with Hank. It's his turn to change diapers."

Reid felt some of his anger bleed away at the thought of Derek Morgan changing a dirty diaper. He nearly smiled.

"Come in and sit," Savannah invited. "I'm sure Derek will be happy to see you."

He did take a seat on the sofa. He looked around the inviting room with its family photos and some of Hank's toys strewn around on the floor. Something broke in his chest, and he had to choke back the urge to cry, again. He cleared his throat and forced a smile when Morgan walked into the room with Hank in his arms.

"Hey, pretty boy. What brings you here?"

Hank giggled and held out his arms to Spencer, who took him eagerly.

"Hey, Hank. How's it going."

"He loves you, man," Derek observed with a grin.

"I love him, too."

Hank grunted and twisted in Spencer's arms. He looked down at the ground, so Spencer put him down and watched the nine-month-old boy crawl to grab on of his toy cars. Spencer saw that it was Lightning McQueen of the Cars movies.

"So, what's going on," Derek asked. "How was your trip to see your mom?"

Spencer sighed, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Everything came pouring out, all of his frustration, anger, and sorrow, that he'd kept bottled up for what felt like decades. Morgan watched and listened without interruption until Reid wound down to silence.

Hank looked up when the silence fell. He crawled to Spencer and pulled up to a standing position using Spencer's legs as leverage. He giggled and jabbered enthusiastically. Spencer picked him up and hugged him tightly. He kissed him on the top of his head and arranged him on his lap.

"So," he croaked at Derek. "Still happy to see me?"

"Reid, you know I got your back no matter what. If that means you need to vent, then it's all good."

"I don't know why it's hitting me so hard. I've lived with my mother's illness for as long as I can remember. I was her only caretaker for eight years. She's been in an institution for over fifteen years. Why now?"

"Did you ever stop to think that you should give yourself a break?"

"Derek!"

"I'm serious. Spencer, the most aggravating thing about you is your tendency to blame yourself for everything."

"Derek, I don't-"

"Wait," his friend held up a hand. "Let me finish."

Reid nodded and let Hank back down on the floor. The baby crawled to a pile of plastic blocks and began to play.

"All right, I'll listen."

"You're so fond of facts and statistics, here's one I read. I don't remember the exact numbers, but a good percentage of caregivers become ill and die from the stress of taking care of a loved one."

"I know that study and what you're not saying is that it happens after the loved ones die. My mom is still alive."

"I realize that, Spencer. I didn't mean to imply anything, but I'm concerned about you. I know you that you met someone. Spend time with her, maybe take some time off to concentrate on your relationship."

"I don't know how to do that. How do I stop worrying about my mom?"

"You don't, but you put it to one side. You have to especially with your job, or it will eat you alive from the inside out."

"Is that why you left?"

"Yes," Morgan said without hesitation, "but that's what was right for me, Spencer. Spend time with your girl," he repeated. "Talk to your mom when you can. Spend time with her when you can."

"Rossi said the same thing."

Morgan smiled. "He's right. Your mother wouldn't want you to constantly worry about her. She wants you to live your life and be happy."

"How did you and Rossi suddenly become so wise?"

Morgan chuckled at the irritation in Spencer's eyes. "We had to keep up with you."

"I'm not wise!" Reid pointed out.

"There's more to you than brains and an affinity for cheating at poker."

"I _do_ not cheat," Reid protested, indignantly.

"Got you," Morgan teased.

Hank crawled over to his dad. Morgan picked him up and said. "Hey, little man. What are you doing?"

Something Reid had tried to ignore for years rose up and overwhelmed the grief in his chest. If only he had a child.

"Hey, what you thinking?"

"Nothing, I'm good."

Morgan studied him for a minute but didn't argue. "You want something to drink or a snack. It's nap time for this little dude."

"No, I better go."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for listening."

"As I said, I got your back."

He walked with Reid to the front door. "Seriously, kid. Take some time and get out of your head. Do what you gotta do to relax a little."

"I promise I will."

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Chriscelia put the finishing touches on her surprise for Spencer. Any minute and he'd be knocking on her door. She looked at the clock and realized she had ten minutes to get dressed. She hurried into her bedroom and pulled on the outfit she bought for this night.

She jumped when a knock sounded at her door. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she had to force her hands to her sides. It was Spencer, not someone that wanted to hurt her. Still, her hands felt cold, and she shivered as she crossed the living area to her door.

 _Remember the dream._

She pushed the nightmare away and opened the door. "Hi," she greeted him with a kiss.

"Hello," he looked her up and down. "You look amazing."

"Thank you. You look great."

He followed her into the living room. "Surprise," She said and gestured to the table set with china, silver, and crystal. The tablecloth was white as newly fallen snow, and he noticed classical music playing softly in the background.

"I thought that maybe you'd like some of your favorite food and a chance to relax after your trip."

He detected the glorious smell of Indian spices in the air and noticed a bottle of wine on the table with the place settings.

"Yes, but you didn't have to go to all this trouble." He slipped an arm around her and kissed her.

"I heard the pain in your voice every time we spoke when you were away. It broke my heart."

Her beautiful hazel eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at him. He wiped them away with his thumb and kissed her again. "Thank you."

She smiled and hugged him tightly. "You're welcome."

"Whatever you have in the kitchen, smells great."

"You said your favorite food is Indian. I hope you don't mind that I ordered in. I've never tried Indian, much less attempted to cook it and since I like your face, I didn't want to give you food poisoning."

"I doubt that, but takeout is fine with me. I live on it."

"Why doesn't that surprise me."

"Watch what you say, Ms. Moore."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Come on. Help me plate your feast."

He followed her to the kitchen and grinned when he realized that she'd ordered from his favorite Indian restaurant, Saffron Valley. He began opening boxes and licked his lips to when he found two different curries, Chicken Tandoori, and various wraps that included salad and soup. Also, he found his favorite rice pudding for dessert.

"Wow, how did you know about all my favorites?"

"I remembered you said you like Saffron Valley, so I called them and spoke with a nice young man called Raj who knows you well. He told me about all your favorite dishes."

"No one knows how to keep a secret anymore," Reid pretended to complain. "Perhaps, I better have a talk with him."

"You'll do no such thing," Chriscelia said loftily. "He was nothing but helpful. It's not his fault you eat there twice a week."

Reid felt the urge to laugh for the first time in a week. "What can I say, when you're right, you are right."

He helped her carry plates of food to the table, then poured them goblets of wine. "This all looks and smells fabulous. I can't wait."

Chriscelia lifted her glass. "Here's to good food and even better company."

"Agreed."

They sat and began their meal. Chriscelia told Spencer about talking with her agent about her latest book and the time frame for it to be published.

"I can't wait to read it."

"My publisher said it's the best one yet."

"That's great."

"Thank you."

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Chriscelia put down her wrap. "Spencer, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he encouraged.

"I had an idea for a book, and I wanted to get your opinion."

"Sure, but what can I say?"

"I wanted to base a character on you."

"Me, why me?"

"Because your kind, sweet, great looking, and you kick ass on a daily basis. You're also extremely mysterious, and you make me laugh."

"I'm not sure I like that idea."

"I promise I'll do you and the FBI justice."

"I'm not a hero," Reid protested. "I can't even help my mother. What kind of man does that make me?"

"Spencer, there are some things we can't do. Just because you can't cure your mother, doesn't make you less of a man. You help her in so many other ways."

He pushed away his plate. "Like what?"

She reached across the table and took his hand. It trembled in her grasp and her heart broke for him. " You love her, Spencer. That's worth more than all the medicine or revolutionary treatments you can find for her. You've never treated her as though she were less than human, a burden to be cast aside."

"How can you say that, when I committed her to an institution?"

"You did it for her good; you know that."

He sighed. "I would have argued with you ten years ago, but you're right. It was for her good. She's had nearly twenty years of good health due to someone controlling her medication. I guess I wish nothing changed, that she didn't develop Alzheimer's on top of everything."

"I wish I could make it right for you."

"You don't have to, Celia. You help me by being my friend."

The music changed, and a mellow but seductive tune flowed smoothly from the speakers. "This is my favorite." Chriscelia said.

Spencer stood and held out a hand. "Would you like to dance, milady?"

"I'm not a good dancer," she hedged.

"Come," he said and took her hand. "I'll go slow."

He pulled her into his arms and swayed gently to the music. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him that sent her heart rate into overdrive. He led her away from the table, with practiced steps. He twirled her out and back to him, the out again. She began to laugh until he cut her off with a kiss that sent heat racing into her blood.

Spencer felt more weight from the week dissolve from his shoulders. He dropped his head to her neck and breathed in her wonderful scent that was more satisfying and seductive than all the curry, or coffee in the world. Her arms, around his neck, was more real than the cold comfort of his books or the texture of his chess set in his hands

Spencer spun her outward again then pulled her back, and this time he kissed his way down to her shoulder. She sighed and let her head fall back as they whirled in place. She felt dizzy and hot all at the same time.

"Celia," he groaned. "I _need_ you."

His hands found the zipper on her dress and lowered it. Her dress fell to the floor, and the cool air on her back startled her into pulling away from him. She stumbled over her dress and almost fell into the table.

"I didn't invite you over for this."

"I know."

Her face was flushed, and her chest heaved. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes."

She nodded, and confusion made her weak when he didn't move back to her. He said. "Are you certain, because if you're not, you better say so now and I'll leave. I want you, Celia. I need you. If you don't tell me to leave now, this _will_ happen. Please say no, and I'll go if that's what you want."

She strode to him and pulled his head down to her mouth. "Stop talking," she panted after a kiss that lasted so long he couldn't breathe.

He'd lost his shirt and tie and was trying to take off her bra when she pulled back again and grabbed his hand. "Come with me," she yanked him in the direction of her bedroom.

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Reid opened his eyes to a dark room, and someone is whimpering near his ear. He blinked, tried to stretch, and realized that another body lay half over his chest. Chriscelia. She suddenly jerked in his arms, screamed so loud, he flinched away from her and fought to remember where to find a light.

"Spencer," said a tiny voice that sounded like a frightened child. "I'm scared."

"Celia," he soothed. "Wake up, you're dreaming."

She jerked again, and her weight was gone. A light switched on, and he blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw Chriscelia sitting with her back to him, and he could hear her crying in a way that broke his heart.

"Celia, honey. What's wrong?"

She turned to him and the fear in her eyes as she looked at him stunned him. She slid off the bed, went to her closet, yanked out a robe and pulled it on. She left the room without looking at him. He sat back and felt the slow, thunderous pace of his heart in his chest. His fear began to blossom in his heart like some malignant flower. Had he unknowingly forced her to do something she didn't want to do? She hadn't said no. She'd participated enthusiastically, or so he'd thought. What if she'd pretended because she thought she wanted him but realized too late? The blood in his veins went cold enough to make him shiver. What if she'd changed her mind too late, and felt forced. Oh, God!

He got out of her bed and found his brief and pants, but remembered his shirt was in her living room. He pulled on his pants and walked slowly out to her kitchen. She wasn't there, so he went to the living room. She sat on the couch with her back to him. "Chriscelia?"

She flinched, and his heart plummeted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. If you want me to leave, I'll accept that decision.

She turned around and looked at him with a strange expression. "What are you talking about?"

"You're upset. I can tell you had a bad dream. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I thought tonight was what you wanted."

She studied him, then held out her hand. "Spencer, you did not hurt me, and you most definitely didn't force me if that's what you're thinking. Last night was the most wonderful experience of my life."

He sat next to her and pulled her into his arms. "Then I don't understand. You looked at me with such fear and unhappiness."

She sighed and hung her head. "Do you remember when you left for Houston last week. We had talked before you left, and as you always do, you knew something was wrong, but I didn't tell you."

"Yes, I was going to ask you about it tonight, but I got distracted."

She raised her head and smirked at him. "Did you?"

He kissed her cheek. "Yes."

"I had a terrible nightmare that night. It truly frightened me."

"What is it like tonight?"

She nodded and told him about the dreams. "Why do I include you in the dreams? You're not the one that tried to hurt me; it was Jimmy LaSalle."

He drew in a breath. "I think your subconscious is blaming me because I entered your life and brought Jimmy LaSalle to your attention."

"You saved my life, Spencer. How could I think you're the bad guy in all of this?"

"Because I made you face the dark side of your fame as an author and you resent me for it."

She pulled away from him. "I don't resent you, Spencer. We made love tonight, and it was beautiful. I think I'm falling in love with you.

He pulled her back and once more, put his hands on both sides of her face. "I'm falling in love with you, too.

"Then why are you the bad guy in my dreams. I don't understand!"

"Maybe we made a mistake."

"No!"

"Celia, we just spent some amazing hours together, but the reason I was so insistent on having sex with you tonight, was that I needed a release. I needed something to make me forget about my mother and her condition. You helped me to forget, Chriscelia, but was that the best reason for us to make love? I wanted us to be together for us, not as a distraction or as a biological imperative."

Tears filled her eyes. "I don't want to say you're right, but I was afraid last night before you arrived. I wanted to have a romantic dinner, but I was frightened because of the dream. I wanted to talk to you, but you were so sad, and then we danced, and we kissed, and I didn't think anymore, except that I wanted to make the sadness in your eyes go away. The way you touched me made me want you so much I couldn't think straight."

She put her head on his shoulder and began to cry. He held tight to her and bit down on the inside of his mouth to keep back tears. He had to be the strong one, now. "Chriscelia."

She looked up at him. "You don't have to say it."

"I should go."

"Yes."

"I think we should spend a few days apart. We both need to think about what we've done."

The relief in her was so great that shame flooded her and she began to cry again. "Yes. I don't want you to go, but I do need some time."

He kissed her again, grabbed his clothes, pulled them on as quickly as he could and in less than five minutes he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

Chriscelia opened the door to her apartment when Pam knocked. "Hey," she greeted her friend. "Thanks for coming over."

"I'm glad I did," said the short, curly-haired woman with skin the color of coffee light and dimples on both cheeks. "You look like cat shit."

Chriscelia rolled her bloodshot eyes. Yes, her hair was a mess, she wore torn sweatpants, and an old ragged tee-shirt with a cardigan, but she didn't look that bad. "Thank you," she said sarcastically and let her friend into the living area.

Pam sat down and studied her friend. "What's going on? You sounded terrible on the phone."

"I'm not sure I know where to start. You want something to drink."

"No, stop playing host and tell me."

"All right. I'm pretty sure I screwed it up with Spencer."

"From what you've told me about him, I'm pretty sure you're exaggerating. He sounds like a sweet guy."

"He is, but a couple of nights ago, things got pretty heated."

Pam's dark eyes lit up. "Girl, you been holding out on me. Dish."

"He went to see his mother, and when he got back from his trip, he was upset. I decided to plan a romantic dinner for him."

"Oh, I think I see where this is going," Pam said with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "How was it?"

Chriscelia sighed. "I didn't plan for us to sleep together. I just wanted to help him relax a little."

"So did, he, relax, I mean."

"Pam, it's not funny. It was wonderful and beautiful, and then I freaked out and messed it up. I've pretty much ruined it with Spencer, and all my friends are alienated because I live in my head instead of keeping up friendships. I don't want that to happen with you. I think I'm in love with Spencer and I don't know what to do to make things right and –"

"Wow, slow down," admonished Pam. "Start at the beginning and tell me how you ruined it with him."

"I've been having nightmares ever since Jimmy LaSalle was stalking me. I'm in an empty airport, and a figure is chasing me. I can't see its face, but it taunts me. Then I realize there are more than one and they surround me. Then there is this light and Spencer is there. The figures disappear, and I have this conversation with him about my fears and why the figures are haunting me. I'm talking about how I'm having a conversation with a manifestation of my subconscious and how weird it is when his face changes and it's the phantom figure and I know he's going to kill me. I wake up screaming."

"Oh, why didn't you tell me," Pam hugged her tight.

"I didn't want to bother you. You're busy with graduate school and –"

"I'm never too busy for my friend. You have to start believing in that. Your friends care about you."

"I know, I'm working on it."

"What else happened with Spencer?"

"I had one of the nightmares the other night after we – well you know – and I just left him lying there, and he thought he did something to scare me."

"I'm assuming you set him straight."

"Yes, but then he said we'd made a mistake, that he'd used me to feel better. He said we should take a few days and not see each other. I agreed because I was so freaked out about the dream, but now I'm not so sure."

"You think all of this is because of Darren and what he did to you."

Chriscelia nodded her head. "Yeah, I think so. I thought I left all of that behind me, but then I met Spencer, and on top of that I find out I have a crazy stalker. I guess it brought up bad memories."

"I think you need to talk to Spencer," Pam advised. "He needs to know about Darren."

"I don't think he'll understand."

"If he doesn't then he's not worth pursuing."

Chriscelia picked at the edge of her couch and didn't look at her friend. "I know, but I'm not sure how to tell him."

"You just say it."

"It's easy for you, Pam. You're the one that has men following you around all the time. You can have anyone you want."

"So, can you. You never believed in yourself, Chrissy. Think about all you have accomplished. You've published two best-selling books, and your third will do just as well if not better. You have enough money you don't have to work, and you met someone amazing. Do you know how rare that is?"

"I lied to him, Pam. I told him I've never had a serious relationship except for John in college. What if he's angry with me?"

"I'm more than sure that he has secrets he hasn't shared with you."

"You're right."

"If I'm right, you need to pick up the phone and call him."

"What if he doesn't want to see me after I tell him?"

"Then I will hunt him down and kill him."

"Pam!"

"Look, I don't pretend to know him, but from what you've said about him, I think he'll understand. He seems like a great guy."

"I hope you're right."

"You'll never know until you try."

Chriscelia stood up. "I will, but not now. I need to get out of this apartment. I've been sitting here feeling sorry for myself for the last two days."

"Good. Let's go get drunk."

Chriscelia rolled her eyes. "It's eleven in the morning."

Pam wiggled her eyebrows. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

Chriscelia laughed and felt some of the weight lift off her shoulders. "Why don't we go to a movie instead. I'll buy you popcorn and sour patch kids."

"You know the way to my heart."

Chriscelia hugged her. "Thank you. I needed someone to talk to. I promise I'll do better in keeping you in the loop. I know I'm a terrible friend that takes you for granted. Why do you put up with me?"

"First, I don't put up with you. You're my friend, dummy. Second, it's not like I'm the best at keeping in touch. Why don't we agree to do better as friends? Agreed?"

"Yes," Chriscelia said. "I completely agree."

"I'm always here for you, Chrissy. Now, go take a shower and put on something warm, but fun."

"I'm going."

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Reid took a seat at the back of the meeting hall. He noticed a few new faces in the group and thought about the first time he'd stood in front of the BCC and told strangers about his addiction. It had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever down, up until now.

He waited to stand until he couldn't sit still anymore "Hi, my name is Spencer. I'm an addict. I've been clean for nine years. I see many new faces in the room, and I want to say welcome to you all. I want to tell you about something I did three nights ago. I took advantage of someone I care for because I was hurting."

He saw the curiosity in the eyes of the new attendees. He saw compassion from those he knew well, and he saw acceptance from John, who sat in the middle of the group. For the first time, he felt shame in sharing with the group. He left out most of the details and sat as soon as he could.

Two men stood to share, and he listened with half an ear instead of his usual rapt attention. After he greeted several friends and engaged in small talk over coffee, he made excuses to leave. He couldn't keep his mind on the conversations, and he needed to get out of the building. He wasn't able to avoid John, though. His sponsor and friend waited for him in the hallway leading to the exit.

"Trying to avoid me," he greeted him.

"Yes," Spencer said.

"At least you're honest."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I only wanted to say I'm here if you need someone to listen."

"I'm fine, just dealing with something."

"Burying it doesn't do you any good."

"Spare me the lecture!"

"Attack me all you want. It won't help you."

Reid slumped against the wall and sighed. "You heard me say I took advantage of someone I care about," he started. "Her name is Chriscelia Moore. I met her a little over a month ago, and I think I love her."

"That's wonderful."

A pair of cops waved at them as they left the building. Reid and John waved back.

"It was until last night."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I just returned from seeing my mom. I was – am so angry, and I feel so helpless. I went to see Morgan, and then I went to see Chriscelia. She set up a beautiful dinner with wine, candles, music, and her company."

"Sounds like a wonderful evening."

"It was, and then we were dancing, and I kissed her."

"What's wrong with that?"

Three more people passed them. Reid leaned into John. "Things went well beyond a kiss."

"Again, what's wrong with that?"

"She had a nightmare, an extremely upsetting nightmare. She woke up screaming. When I tried to help her, she ran away from me. She was so frightened, John. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I did to frighten her so badly."

"Let me see if I follow you. She left you in her bed after a nightmare, and you assumed you did something wrong?"

"Yes. I thought that maybe –"

"Did she say no to you at any time."

"No!"

"Then why are you blaming yourself for her reaction."

"I don't know, John. That's the problem."

"Have you talked to her?"

Reid hung his head. "We talked about it, but it wasn't a productive conversation."

"What did she say?"

"It wasn't her. I said I thought it was better for us to take a couple of days to think. I said I thought we'd made a mistake, which I'd wanted sex because I needed a distraction and a release."

"She agreed?"

"Yes. She said she needed time as well."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I think I'm freaking out because I'm afraid. In a way, it's like Maeve all over again."

"Because of her stalker."

Reid stared at John, who watched him with eyes that always saw too much.

"I forget who you are when we're here."

John nodded. "Good, you should feel that way. Yes, I did read the report on one James LaSalle. That was good work."

"I thank God for Garcia and her overprotective nature."

"Ms. Garcia is a formidable woman."

"I thought I put it all behind me, but apparently, I haven't," Reid said unhappily.

More of the guys poured out of the meeting room. No one gave them a second look as they left the building.

"Spencer, becoming physically intimate with someone requires trust, if you're looking for more than a good time."

"It started out as satisfying a physical desire, but turned into more."

"And for her as well, I assume."

"I hope so."

"You hope so? What do your profiling skills tell you?"

"Yes," Spencer said. "She felt the same at the moment, but I think we both realized that we let things go too far, too fast."

"Spencer, I know you'd rather cut off your foot than believe you intentionally took advantage of someone. It is allowed for you to take comfort in the physical. It's not a mortal sin."

"I thought I understood that, but I guess I let emotion get in the way. I think I love her, John. I don't want to hurt her."

"You can't go through life avoiding pain. If you believed you could, you never would have made it nine years without Dilaudid."

"Why do you have to make perfect sense?"

John grinned at him. "Because I've been married for over thirty years."

Reid let out a breath. "I'll call her."

"Good man!" John agreed. "Let's go get some decent coffee."

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Chriscelia checked her messages after returning from the movies and a nice, long talk with Pam over a late lunch. Her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Spencer's number and that he'd left her a message.

"Hi," his voice said. "I'm sorry. Please call me. I need to talk to you. I love you, Celia."

She put her phone aside and stared into space. Should she respond or make him wait. She wanted to talk to him and tell him the truth, but dialing his number after what they'd said to each other after such a wonderful few hours together, was so difficult.

She picked up her phone and dialed his number. "Hi, Spencer."

"Hi. Are you okay?"

"No, but I think we should talk."

She heard him sigh. "I'm glad you said that. Why don't we meet on neutral territory?'

"Where."

"At Izzy's in an hour?"

"All right, I'll meet you there."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

Reid studied the patrons around him at Izzy's as he entered. It appeared that the club was about half capacity that evening and they were all interested in the band that was playing, instead of a lone FBI agent. Most of the clientele were young but successful. He searched the entryway for Chriscelia, but she hadn't arrived. He looked at his watch in the dim light and sighed. He was ten minutes early.

"Dr. Reid," A tall, thin, white-haired gentleman dressed in a navy-blue suit with a brilliant white shirt and blood red tie, greeted him.

"Hello, Izzy."

"I have the party room reserved and ready for you and your young lady. I've directed Melinda to take care of you."

"Chriscelia should be here in about ten minutes."

"Do you want to wait at the bar, or in the party room?"

"I'd prefer the party room if that's convenient?"

"Excellent."

Izzy led Reid to the small room in the back of the club. It was furnished in different shades of scarlet and gold, with small sofas scattered around with tiny tables and arm chairs.

"Hello," greeted Melinda, a small woman in black slacks, a white shirt, and black vest. A gold nameplate showed her name, and she wore a red rose in her wavy chestnut-colored hair. "Would you like a drink?"

"Just coffee, please."

He sat on one of the armchairs surrounding a table. He stared at the door and waited for it to open with Chriscelia on the other side. He'd never felt so nervous in his life.

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When Chriscelia entered the party room at Izzy's, she stopped short. Spencer wore a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a matching tie.

"You look amazing."

He smiled, and for the first time since he'd called her, she thought it might be okay. "Shakespeare said that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I don't know if I believe it. I can't imagine knowing you under any name but Chriscelia, especially the way you look tonight."

"Thank you," his words stole her breath and she felt like her knees might float away.

"I speak only the truth. Come sit with me."

She sat across from him in a red velvet armchair. Even with the table between him, his nearness made her heart race. He wore a subtle aftershave that tickled her nose and didn't help the floating sensation in her knees.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Fine, how are you?"

"Honestly, I'm feeling confused."

"Me too, and sorry."

"Why? I was the one that suggested we needed time."

"And I agree to it," Chriscelia responded. "I'm glad I did because the time to think made me realize something." She saw the hurt in his face at her words. "Please don't think I want to end this."

"You're extremely perceptive," he squeaked. "How did you know I was thinking about that?"

"I'm a writer; we have to be perceptive and observant."

"Okay, that makes sense. So, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I lied to you. I told you I'd never had a serious relationship, except for John and I don't count him."

He watched her with his eyes that saw everything and showed every feeling. He didn't speak which made her heart race. She swallowed heard and continued.

"After I published my first book, I met Darren. He was good looking with curly dark hair, green eyes and tall. We hit it off and started dating. It turned intense very quickly. I found out after about three months that he was married. I was horrified, and I wanted to break it off. I asked him to meet me at our favorite bar to talk." Her voice trembled as she spoke and tears gathered in her eyes.

He reached across the table and took her hand. "It's all right, Celia. Just take it slow."

"When I confronted him, he didn't deny it. He wanted to continue our relationship. He said he wasn't happy in his marriage and that he loved me. I couldn't do it, Spencer. I couldn't sleep with a married man."

"You did the right thing."

Chriscelia laughed bitterly. "That isn't the worst of it. A few weeks later, I was out with Pam, one of my best friends. We hadn't seen each other in a long time as I was writing my book, and working as a secretary for a bridge contractor. She was just starting graduate school. Anyway, Darren must've been following me, because he was at the club where we went to do a little dancing and some drinking. I left to go to the ladies' room, and some guy was trying to get Pam to dance with him. The agreement we always have is that if one of us likes a guy, the other calls a cab. We're adults, and it never was an issue.

"When I came back, Darren was at our table, and Pam was gone," Chriscelia said in a rush as if to get it all out at one time. "I told him to get lost, and didn't he know the meaning of no. I don't know how he did it, Spencer. He must have slipped it into my drink when Pam left with the guy and before I came back. I know if she'd known he was there, she would've made a big scene. Anyway, the next thing I know, I wake up at his place, naked in bed."

"Oh god," Spencer whispered. "GHB?"

"Yes, I went to the police, and they arrested him. Thank God they caught him with the GHB, and they found enough in my system to put him away for a long time."

"Pam was beside herself when she realized what happened." Chriscelia continued. "I think she felt more guilt about it than me for not getting a new drink when I came back to our table. We learned our lesson. When one of us goes to the ladies' room, the other stays and watches over the drinks and we don't leave with a guy unless we've been dating and have some measure of trust."

She wiped away the tears that welled in her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this, Spencer. I was – _am_ ashamed."

"Why? You did nothing wrong, Chriscelia. "He's the one that raped you."

"I know, I just wish I'd told you and then maybe the other night- oh damn, that sounds like I think you have no self-control."

"I don't think I did, that night."

"That's not true, Spencer. The sooner you realize it, the better. Stop treating me as if you raped me. That was Darren, _not_ you?"

He flinched at the slap in her voice, but more than anything John said, or that he'd heard from the voice of reason in his head, her words made him see that he was blaming himself for something he didn't do.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth."

"I'm glad you care enough to worry," she reached out and clasped his hand. "I'm not sorry, Spencer, despite the nightmares. I'm glad it happened, even if it brought up buried issues.

"I am too. I'm glad you told me."

"You're not angry."

"Yes, a little." He held up his hand when she tried to speak. "I'm upset because as I said, I would have thought before I let my hormones and my need for distraction overtake my good sense. "You're right," he continued before she could protest again. "I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

She nodded and looked at her hands because she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. "I am sorry, Spencer.

"I do understand why you didn't tell me. We all have secrets, Chriscelia."

"Do you have secrets?"

"I do, and I will share them, but I think we both have issues we need to begin to address before I do. You'll understand."

At that moment, Melinda came in. "Do you want to order food or drinks." She said, completely ignoring their awkward body language.

"Yes, I'd like a glass of white wine," Chriscelia requested.

"Beer for me and please bring us a platter nachos. Is that okay, Chriscelia?"

Chriscelia nodded, and Melinda backed out of the room. She left them staring at each other. "We need to talk about how to proceed from here," Reid said quietly.

Chriscelia put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "I was thinking about it. I've been trying to work up the courage to see a shrink. I need help, but I'm scared."

He squeezed her free hand. "I know it's easy for me to say, but there's no reason to be afraid. Everyone needs someone to talk to. Believe me; I know that for an undeniable fact. I know two excellent psychologists if you don't mind my unsolicited recommendation."

Tears fell from her eyes as relief heated her blood and ran chills over her body. "I thought you might hate me if I said I want to talk to someone."

"Why?"

"Because your mom is sick and you don't need someone else to worry about."

"Chriscelia, you are _not_ someone else. I said I love you and I do. That's means in the good times and the bad."

"You don't know what it means to hear you say that to me. I'm sorry I was so angry."

"Me too."

"I do want those names you have, please."

"I'll find their contact information and text you."

"Thank you."

She studied him with eyes that he adored, but there was something in them that confused him. "What are you thinking?"

"That you're too good to be true and one day I'll wake up and realize that I imagined you."

"Not going to happen."

"You certainly felt real enough the other night," she teased.

"Chriscelia!"

Melinda chose that time to enter with their drinks and food. After she had left, Chriscelia said. "Sorry about that last comment. I couldn't resist."

"It's okay because I think that same about you."

She sipped her wine and sighed. "What do we do about us?"

"I think a moratorium on romantic dinners alone followed by sex is a great idea."

"Cute."

"I'm serious."

She winked at him. "I know you are, my love."

"I like that," he said, and his eyes lit up. "Say it again."

"I'm glad you like it because I enjoy saying it to you. Seriously, what do we do?"

"I think we take sex out of the equation until you have a chance to see a therapist and I deal with my mom."

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. Here I am wallowing, and you have problems of your own."

He munched on one of the nachos. "Don't apologize. I know you're not selfish enough to think that it's all about you."

"It _is_ all about me," she teased.

He laughed long and loud. "You see, that's why we have to work it out. I need you to make me laugh and keep me in perspective."

"I'm glad to help. Do you know what you're going to do about your mom?"

He sighed and played with the neck of his beer bottle. "On my last visit, I found out that she's part of the placebo portion of the study. I don't want her there if she's not benefitting from the experimental drug, even if the effects are minimal.

"I'm so sorry."

"She's still confused, angry and violent. She slapped a nurse's aide the other day."

"That's terrible."

"I had this crazy idea to bring her home with me. I thought if I could get my hands on the trial meds, that I could follow the protocol on my own and make her better."

"How were you planning on getting the meds."

"By any means necessary."

"Spencer!"

"I know, I lost my head for a minute. Then, I thought about what might happen if I did remove her from a controlled environment. Also, I thought about you, Henry, Hank, and all my BAU family, and what could happen if I was caught with an experimental drug. I thought, what if something happens to my mom and it turns out to be the drug. I couldn't live with the guilt. I love my mom so much, but I have to let the professionals help her."

"Will you keep her in the trial?"

"I don't know. I want to, but she was insistent about going home to Bennington. She was there for over fifteen years, it's all she's known, and she misses it."

"I wish I could do something to help you both."

"You can. Just be there for me."

"Just try and get rid of me."

He laughed again. "Thanks for listening."

"You're welcome."

They sat in silence for a while. When they finished the junk food and alcohol, Reid said, "Penny for your thoughts."

"I was thinking about the moratorium on sex."

"Yes," Reid said blandly and then smirked at her.

"I was _wondering_ ," she went on and ignored his smirk. "Do we get to hold hands, and kiss?"

"I think I can be persuaded!"

"You're a funny man, Dr. Reid. Of course, you can be persuaded; you're a guy."

"As you keep reminding me."

"Why don't we sit on one of those tiny couches and see how it goes?"

"I can handle it if you can."

They met at one of the red velvet upholstered love seats and sat looking at each other.

Reid inclined his head. "May I hold your hand, Ms. Moore."

"You may, kind sir."

"Thank you."

He took her hand and almost sighed at the warmth of her skin. "So far so good," he said without squeaking.

"Yeah," she said a bit breathlessly.

He leaned over the kissed her. It was a brief kiss that made his neck tingle.

"How was that?" He wondered.

"Very nice. I think we better stick to hand holding tonight."

"I concur," he said solemnly and grinned at her.

"What now?"

"I think we should get out of here."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Garcia mentioned a dance club she found that's 1.74 miles from here. She said the music's better than the bands here at Izzy's. I guess we'll have to try it and find out."

Chriscelia pulled him to his feet. "Then let's go party."


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

Chriscelia heard and felt the beat of the music from The Jagged Edge, as soon as they stepped out of the cab they'd shared. It was low and almost primal in its intensity. Although it was Wednesday night, people stood in line to enter. She discovered when Spencer paid the cover, that it was in fact ladies night. She waggled her eyebrows at him when he told her she'd dance for free, and it made him roll his eyes.

The interior of the club reminded her a bit of a movie she'd once seen with mirrors on the walls, a long curving bar at one end of the large room, tables around the edges and lights that flashed colors onto the ceiling and the walls.

"Come on," Reid grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the crowded dance floor.

The music prevented her from hearing anything but a shout, but she followed him into the crowd. He turned, smirked and most surprising, winked at her. Then he began to move, and she understood for the first time what people meant by cat-like grace. She'd never seen him so graceful and confident as he was in the midst of all the people on the dance floor. It was like watching gurgling, pure water flow over rocks in a streambed or the coordinated flight of nighthawks on a summer night.

"Hey," he shouted over the music. "Why aren't you dancing?"

She realized that she stood there in the middle of all the chaos wrought by music and the lights, and all the people in their own little worlds.

"Oh, ah right," she said and felt her face flaming.

The music changed to a slower dance number that she recognized, but didn't know the words. Spencer held out a hand to her and pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes and lay her head on his shoulder. His familiar scent, masculine and comforting, washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment as he confidently led her into a modified waltz that should have clashed with the modern music, but somehow complimented it.

"I love you," he said directly into her ear.

Then he dipped her back and made her laugh with delight. She didn't notice that some of the other patrons were watching them with a mixture of irritation and delight as they moved around the dance floor. When the song ended, he pulled her to a small table in one corner just vacated by two men. The volume of the music lessened as the DJ opted for another slow tune.

"Hey," Chriscelia turned to see a guy about her age with a military cut hair, dark eyes, and a leather jacket over a green tee shirt with jeans, leering at her. "Wanna dance?"

She saw Spencer move his hand toward his back pocket and his badge. "Get lost," she told leather boy. "I'm here with him," she jerked her thumb at Spencer.

The guy put up both hands. "Just thought you might like a drink and dance. No strings, baby."

"The lady said to get lost," Spencer said and put an arm around her.

Leather boy shrugged, shot Spencer a look and said. "No problem."

Chriscelia took one of the seats at the table and took in Spencer's smiling face and eyes that were like melted chocolate in the flashing lights. "Sorry about that," she said.

"Hey, it's not your fault. You can't blame the guy. He's got great taste."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or not," she replied.

"You should be flattered. You are a beautiful woman, even if you don't believe it."

She reached over and took his hand. "You make it easy for me to believe, sometimes. Other times, I look at myself in the mirror, and I wonder what you see." She reached up and adjusted her glasses.

"I see someone that not only accepts me for who I am but loves me for all my baggage and all my self-doubts. "

"You make it easy," Chriscelia said.

Spencer shook his head. "I think you forgive too much."

"Not true."

They looked at each other until Chriscelia gestured to the dance floor. "That was amazing," she said. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

"From watching Morgan for years when the team dragged me out to dance clubs after work."

"Tell him I approve," she said and waggled her eyebrows. "When do I get to meet him?"

"I will tell him, and I don't know, I thought I'd leave meeting him up to you."

"I'm ready anytime. The way you talk about him, tells me that you're close."

"We are close, like brothers."

A server appeared at their table with a drink in her hand. "This is for you, sir, compliments of the lady at the bar."

"Ah, thank you, but I'm here with her," he indicated Chriscelia.

The woman shrugged. "I just deliver them."

She set the drink on the table and went on with her job. Spencer looked over at the woman in question. She nodded to him and lifted her glass. Her auburn hair hung in waves around her oval shaped face, and she wore a sleeveless black halter dress.

"You want me to go tell her to get lost, too." Chriscelia joked.

"No, I'll take care of it."

She watched him with amusement as he went to the bar. She couldn't hear what he said, but whatever it was had the lady smiling and nodding, then to her amazement, she followed Spencer back to the table. "Chriscelia, this is Jade."

"Hi, I'm sorry I tried to horn in on you. I didn't recognize you at first. You're Christina Harris, right?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. I've read both of your books. Do you think you could sign this for me?"

"Let me get this straight, you try to pick up what's mine, and you think an apology covers it, then you ask for my autograph."

Jade's eyes narrowed. "Look, I am sorry for bothering you. It's just that I love your books. Anyway, your friend here is hot. You can't blame a girl for trying."

"I can, but I will sign the napkin because I think we understand each other."

Jade grinned. "Yes, I think we do. Thanks for the autograph."

Chriscelia signed the napkin, then reached for the drink Jade had sent. "I think I need this if you're not going to drink it." She downed it then shuddered and shook her head. "Oh man, that's terrible. I _hate_ single malt."

"Me too," Spencer said. "That's half the reason I didn't drink it."

"What's the other half?"

"I didn't want to encourage her."

"Let's order something we both want."

"Good idea."

An hour later, they left the dance floor for the second time and found seats at the bar. Chriscelia ordered a club soda instead of the white wine she wanted. "I'm not getting drunk tonight."

Reid also drank a club soda, despite loathing the taste of carbonated water. Who wanted carbonation without flavor? "Having fun," he wanted to know.

"Yes, this was the best idea you've had so far."

"Thank you."

"I need to find the ladies room," she said.

"I think I saw the sign for it back there," Spencer jerked his thumb at the back of the club.

"I'll find it."

He watched her walk away, and the view was extremely enjoyable until she disappeared into the crowd. "Hey, sweetheart, why you are sitting here all alone."

He looked up and saw a tall, slender man in skin tight jeans and a brilliant orange and yellow silk shirt standing over him. "Excuse me," he said.

"You want some company."

"No, thank you. I'm here with someone."

"That's okay, babe. Flick him off so you and I can get to know each other."

"My date is a lovely young woman. I'm not interested in getting to know _anyone_ except for her."

"Too bad, you're the hottest thing I've seen in here in a long time."

"Perhaps you'd have better luck on an evening other than ladies night," Spencer suggested.

The man smirked at him. "Honey, some of the wildest night's I've had are with a guy I've found on ladies night."

"Then I wish you good luck."

"You sure you don't want to broaden your horizons."

Spencer pulled his badge from his pocket and laid it on the table. "I'll say it again. I'm _not_ interested."

The man's eyebrows went up. "Sorry to bother you _, Officer."_

Chriscelia returned a minute later. "Why's your badge on the table?"

Spencer told her about the man in the brightly colored shirt. "He was a bit too persistent."

"Can't blame him. You are the hottest guy in here."

"My physical attractiveness is subjective."

"Maybe it is to you, but to me, it's a fact."

"Well thank you kindly, my lady."

She squeezed his hand, then stood up, and leaned into kiss him. "It's my pleasure, my love."

She went back to her seat and was picking up her glass when Spencer reached out his hand and stopped her. "Order a new drink."

Chiscelia stared at him for a moment. " _What?"_

"Remember what you told me about Darren. You said you learned your lesson about leaving your drink out of sight. You need to order a new one."

Confusion and hurt heated her blood and made her heart race. "I trust you, Spencer. You _wouldn't_ do something so despicable."

"No, I wouldn't, and I know you trust me, but you need to order another drink."

When Chriscelia had her new drink, she sat looking at it instead of at Spencer. "Are you angry with me?" He asked.

"Yes, I thought when I got back to the table that I should get a new drink, but then I thought how much I trust you. Then I thought I better order something new, anyway, and then I thought about how insulting it'd be for you. I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"I know," he admitted. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"You didn't snap at me," Chriscelia said. "I was surprised, but you're right. It's more important for me to be careful."

"I promise I won't take offense."

"You _do_ know I trust you more than anyone."

"Yes, I know you do. Let's just enjoy the evening, okay."

Chriscelia nodded. "Yeah, sounds great."

They spent another two hours dancing and talking. In that time they flicked off three men and two women trying to pick up on them at different times. Finally, Spencer suggested that they grab a cab so that he could see her back to her place.

"You're a true gentleman," Chriscelia said.

He could see that she was getting a little sloshed despite her pledge not to get drunk. "I want to make sure you get home safe, that's all."

"I appreciate the old-fashioned sentiment." She giggled.

"My mother taught me well," Spencer said.

"Yes, she did."

"Come on, let's go. I have to go to work in the morning."

He stood, took her hand and led her through the thronging crowd to the entrance. Leaving the building was a relief as the loud music began to fade into the background. They met their cab, and Spencer rode with her to her building. He accompanied her to her door but said no when she asked him if he wanted to go inside. "Remember what we agreed," he said.

"You're right, as much as I don't want to admit it. Thanks for seeing me home."

"You're welcome."

He kissed her briefly on the lips, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you sure you're going to be alright."

He put his head on her shoulder. "I'm going to be fine. I'm going to work tomorrow, and I'm going to carefully consider what I need to do for my mother."

"Will you call me when you decide what to do?"

"I will," he said and lifted his head. "Thank you for tonight. It was fun."

"Yes, it was fun," she agreed.

He kissed her again. "Bye."

"Bye, call me later."

"I will."

"I'm looking forward to it."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Chriscelia dropped an armful of books from the library, onto her end table and pulled off her coat. She sat, yanked off her boots and studied the white sky through the north facing window. It was supposed to snow that afternoon and into the night. She picked up the book on the top of the stack. It was the latest Stephen King offering. After about fifteen minutes she had to admit that she couldn't concentrate on the contents.

In the last two weeks, she'd had two sessions with her therapist, Dr. Merced Osorio. The doctor was in her middle fifties and had kind eyes behind the tortoise shell framed glasses. She was a tiny woman but had a dynamic personality that made Chriscelia forget her height, and somehow, she'd managed to make Chriscelia feel comfortable talking to her in record time.

The sound of a familiar ring tone from her phone made her smile. "Hey, my love. How are you? How's your mom?"

"Not good."

"Oh no, what happened?"

"I got here, and she didn't know me. She just sat and stared at me like I was a stranger. There was such _anger_ in her eyes, as though she _hated_ me."

"You know she doesn't hate you, Spencer."

"Yes, but…" His voice broke, and her heart shattered.

"I wish I could be there and make it easier for you."

"You are," he insisted. "You don't have to be here physically. If I didn't have you to talk to every day, I don't know what I'd do."

"I love you," she said and heard him sigh.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I love you too."

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"I'm moving her back to Las Vegas. It's what she wants, and part of helping her is keeping her in a stable, familiar environment. Fortunately, Bennington has room for her. It won't be the same room, but it's something."

"I'm so sorry the study didn't work out for her."

"As they say, it is what it is."

"True, but it's much more difficult to believe when it comes to the one you love."

"Yes, but I have to believe it for her sake."

"I hope that one day I'll get to meet her."

"Unfortunately, I don't think that's feasible. I can introduce you, but she likely won't remember you, or worse she'd think you're a danger to her and me. For the most part, it's a result of her schizophrenic delusions, which have always included the government spying on her, and now add in dementia to the mix. She insisted to me that we can only trust each other when we were in Texas. I'm hoping once I get her back to Bennington and familiar surroundings, she'll improve."

"I wish I could help you with the move."

"I'll be okay."

She heard the hopelessness in his voice and part of her wanted to rage at God for all Spencer suffered.

"Will I see you soon?"

"It'll take a few days to get her settled. I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'm going to hold you to that. I'm worried about you."

"Don't worry about me, Celia. I promise I'll be fine."

"I worry because I love you. I hate to see the sadness in your eyes and hear it in your voice when you talk to me."

"Concentrate on yourself and your therapy," he insisted.

"I'll try."

"Love you, Celia. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

The nightmare came again that night, but this time, Spencer didn't turn into the dream phantom that delighted in chasing her through deserted airport halls. She woke, breathing hard, instead of trying to scream. She switched on her lamp and waited for her eyes to adjust to the onslaught of bright, yellow light that illuminated the room. She surveyed her surroundings with its familiar black and white photos of landscapes and urban scenes on white walls. Books and writing tablets lay scattered on her pinewood desk. A photo of her parents and brother looked down from the matching dresser against the wall. Nothing had changed in the hours since she'd gone to bed.

She went to the bathroom, drank some water from the drinking glass she always kept on her bedside table and climbed back into bed. _Remember what Dr. Osorio said?_

Her therapist told her that she could control the tone of her dreams. So far, it had worked, in that Spencer hadn't changed into the phantom and tried to kill her, but she hadn't worked up the courage to confront the demon. Dr. Osorio said that the only way to know who or what was behind the mask was to remove it.

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At midnight, Reid entered his hotel room and dropped his messenger bag to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands. He remained for a long time and tried to empty his head of the last four days. It didn't work. All he could see in his head was his mother and failure of moving her to Texas, away from everything she'd ever known. Guilt ate into his stomach, and for the first time since Emily's fake death, he thought seriously of Dilaudid and the numbness of oblivion. He reached into his pocket where he carried his five-year medallion and began to finger the grooves as a man might finger a rosary. The long memorized indentations reminded him of everything he would lose if he went looking for a fix. He let his fingers travel over the coin and breathed in and out, deeply, until he locked away the cravings that never fully disappeared.

He changed into sleep pants and a tee shirt with the Millenium Falcon on the front and the words, "My Patronus is the Millenium Falcon." He removed a book from his bag and studied the cover. As he had with "The Narrative of John Smith," he carried a reminder of the woman he loved. It was an autographed first edition of "Chains of Destiny." He'd memorized it and the words that Chriscelia had written, but he needed it close to him.

He opened the flyleaf of the book and read, "For Spencer, my dearest love. The heart sees with the eyes of infinity. Yours always." She'd signed it with her true name instead of her pen name then warned him with a smile that she'd likely ruined the value of the book.

He'd laughed and said that it didn't matter because it would always be priceless to him because it was part of her. She'd chided him for waxing so poetically mushy, and he'd ignored her. He closed the cover of the book and put it aside. Another memory pushed to the surface, as he got into bed. It was the night he'd showed her Maeve's book.

" _I've never read anything by Conan Doyle, but now I think I will," she remarked when he showed her the copy of "The Narrative of John Smith."_

" _I didn't show it to you to hurt you."_

" _I realize that," she said. "I figured you wanted me to see this because she lives in your heart as a wonderful memory."_

" _Yes," he said with a wistful smile. "You're very understanding."_

" _I am because she's your past and I'm with you now."_

" _Yes you are," he kissed the tip of her nose._

" _Just remember if you decide to cheat, I'll kill you."_

Reid came back to the present and put aside Chriscelia's book. He picked up his phone and then realized that it was a little after three in the morning on the east coast. Waking her would not score him points, and she'd probably make him sorry when he got home. Oddly, that thought made him smile. He liked that someone cared enough to get angry when he screwed up.

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It was eight pm the next day when he drove up to her apartment building and shut off the engine. He wondered if he should have called instead of surprising her. What if he frightened her? He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then picked up his cell phone. He decided he was acting ridiculous and decided to call her.

"Hey," she answered.

"Hi, how are you?"

"I'm great. How are you?"

"I'm good. Would you be upset if I said I'm sitting in my car, in your parking lot, right now?"

"No. What are you doing? It's freezing out there."

"I was going to knock on your door, but it occurred to me that surprise might not be the wisest course of action. I don't want to frighten you."

"Spencer, I want to see you. Get your cute ass up here. Now." She hung up on him, and he grinned like an idiot at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

When he knocked on her door, she opened it with a smile and pulled him into the room. She kissed him until he couldn't breathe.

"Hello," he said breathlessly.

"Hi, I'm so glad you came to see me."

"Me too," he hugged her close. "I missed you so much."

She led him to the living area and made him sit on the sectional. "I wish I could've helped you some way."

"You did more than you can know."

"I'm glad."

He took her hand. "Chriscelia, there's something I want you to know about me."

He looked at his feet because he suddenly felt shame in telling this part of his life to her. What if she didn't understand?

"Hey, look at me."

He made his head lift to meet her lovely eyes.

"Whatever it is, I will understand."

He took hold of both her hands and held them as if she might fly away from him. "Almost ten years ago, I was kidnapped by a particularly brutal serial killer. He had dissociative identity disorder."

"Multiple personalities," she said.

"Yes. He had three. The first was his true self, Tobias Henkel, a fairly mild-mannered computer tech that worked from his home. The second personality was Charles Henkel, his abusive father. The third called himself Rafael and considered himself a messenger from God sent to punish the wicked."

"My God!"

"It was Rafael that kidnapped me. I separated from JJ who was with me. We thought Tobias was a witness, but I realized he was more than that. He surprised me and knocked me out. When I woke up, I was handcuffed to a chair, in a tiny hunting shack near a graveyard."

"He tortured me for two days. When Tobias would reemerge, he'd forcibly inject me with Dilaudid mixed with a hallucinogen. He thought he was helping me escape the pain, as he'd done when his father abused him."

Tears spilled on Chriscelia's eyelashes, but she made no move to wipe them away. Instead, she clung to him like a life raft as he spoke.

"He used his computer skills to spy on those he thought were sinners. He could watch them through the cameras on their computers. He forced me to choose one to die. I choose one to live, but it didn't stop him. He killed again. I couldn't stop him."

"Spencer," Chriscelia croaked and began to sob.

"I need you to be strong," he said, and she felt his hands trembling. She nodded and met his eyes.

"He filmed me and put it on a live feed to his home computer. My team had to watch him torture me and do nothing."

"Jesus," Chriscelia exclaimed.

Reid shook his head. "My boss at the time, Jason Gideon spoke to me through the feed. He knew Tobias was monitoring him and knew I could hear him. He said. "You are stronger than him. He cannot break you."

"I was able to give my team clues to find me, but only after I had a seizure and stopped breathing. It was Tobias that brought me back with CPR."

She held his hands so tightly, it hurt, but he didn't try to pull away. More tears slipped down her cheeks, but she maintained eye contact.

"The team found me in time to stop him from killing me and burying me in a grave he made me dig. He was distracted long enough for me to kill him with his gun. Still, he left me with an addiction that held me prisoner for nearly a year."

"It wasn't your fault," Chriscelia insisted. "He forced you."

"Yes, but I let his memory rule me for far too long. Fortunately, I found a group of people that saved me from myself and I'll always be grateful to them."

He disentangled one of his hands from her grip to reach into his pocket. He pulled out his medallion and gave it to her.

"Five years," she said as she turned it over.

"I'll get my ten-year medallion in about eight months." He said proudly.

She threw her arms around him. "You are the strongest, most wonderful man I've ever met. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"I wanted you to know because you're extremely important to me. You, like my BAU family, my mom, and other friends, help to keep me sober. I don't want to lose that support."

"I'm honored."

"Still want to make me a character in a book," he teased.

"I'm still waiting for you to answer my request."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, Ms. Moore, you may use me as the basis for your character."

"Thank you," she said primly.

He laughed and said. "So, do I need to sign a contract?"

She smacked his shoulder. "No!"

"I think I should, so you don't misrepresent me."

"Funny! How would I do that? After all, it _is_ a fact that you're hot, sweet, gentle, kind, brilliant, you love your mother, and you're fantastic in bed."

He put his hands over his ears. "I'm not listening."

She smirked at him. "Sorry."

"What?"

"I _said_ I'm sorry!"

"Seriously, I'm not perfect," he insisted.

"I know that. Don't worry. I will think of some deep, dark secret for Agent Samuel to carry around."

"You're calling him Samuel?"

"Yes, geez, do you want control over his name, too?"

"Yes!"

He wiggled his eyebrows, and she shook her head. "That's hilarious, Spencer."

"I like the name, Samuel. It means God's heart or God's name. Even though I'm not sure, I believe in the Ultimate Good if such a being does exist, then I think we all have a part of he or she within us."

"Not too much expectation," Chriscelia wondered.

"I'm fine with it."

"I'm glad you approve," she said irritably. "What else do you want to dictate?"

"Dictate is such a harsh word. I prefer the word suggestion."

"Don't make me hurt you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not, but I forgive you because you're cute."

"In all seriousness, thank you for listening and not throwing me out," Reid said.

"You got the help you need, and you have ten years sober under your belt. That's amazing."

"There are days when it seems like forever since my first meeting and the first time I said aloud that I'm an addict. There are other days when I can't believe it's been a decade. There are other days when I don't think about it at all."

"I'm glad you survived because I was able to meet you."

"I'm so glad I ran into you that day."

"Do you think it was fate?"

"No, he said immediately. "I have come to the realization, that everything happens for a reason."

"I don't know if I believe that."

"Still, I'm glad you're a part of my life, Celia."

She nodded and reached out for his hands. She squeezed them and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you? He asked. "I promise I will keep my hands to myself as we are once more alone in your home.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think we can spend time together without pawing at each other."

His eyes suddenly went mischievous. "Want to play poker?"

"Spencer, unlike your co-workers, I'm not a glutton for punishment."

"I promise I will _not_ cheat."

"I don't believe you."

"You wound me, Ms. Moore."

"Get over it," she suggested.

He snorted laughter and shook his head. "Then what would you like to do."

"I think we should play scrabble."

"I'm fine with that. I'll spot you fifty points."

"There's no need to patronize me, Dr. Reid. I'm going to wipe the floor with you."

"As my friend, Derek Morgan likes to say, _bring_ it on."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Chriscelia used her right foot to shut her apartment door. She put her laundry basket on the coffee table and kicked off her shoes. Her last load was done, except for folding and storing it away. Her doorbell rang, startling her into dropping a half- folded shirt. "Damn." She cursed and went to look through the peephole. The sight outside the door made her smile, and she opened the door eagerly.

"Chriscelia Moore," inquired a tall, thin woman in a delivery uniform.

"Yes, that's me."

The delivery person handed her a gorgeous arrangement of blood-red roses. The blooms were the largest she'd ever seen. Their heady perfume reminded her of her grandmother's garden in summertime.

"Sign here," said the delivery person.

Chriscelia thanked her and signed her name. She took the roses with their greenery and baby's breath to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she had them arranged in her largest vase. She placed it on her work desk, next to her desktop and sat back to admire them for a minute before turning her attention to the card.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Celia. Thank you for all that you are to me. I love you. Spencer."

She almost melted away into a puddle on the floor. Of all the men in the world, she found the best just by running into him at the airport. She went to her dresser and pulled out the gift she'd arranged for him. If he made it back from his case, he'd promised her a romantic dinner at his place. She put down the box and went back to her desk. As she stared at the roses, she thought about another evening alone with him, and this time the thought didn't scare her.

Her doorbell sounded again about two hours later as she was in the middle of working on the second draft of her book. She was stuck on some descriptive additions and ready to pull out her hair. On the other side of the door, stood another delivery person with a large box in his hands.

"Are you Chriscelia Moore?"

She nodded, signed the delivery sheet, and took the box. The delivery person smiled at her and left her to look at the box. It was labeled from an online store she'd heard advertised on the radio. She knew what was inside and eagerly unwrapped the gift. The box contained a dozen, large, red, and juicy strawberries, dipped in white and dark chocolate. They were beautifully decorated and looked too good to eat, but she bit into one, anyway.

"Oh, my God," she sighed as the taste of the fruit and chocolate burst in her mouth.

She had to force herself to stop after devouring two. She was going to make them last instead of burning through them in one glorious orgy of deliciousness. She took the box to the kitchen and found room in her refrigerator. She pulled her phone out of her pocket but stood indecisively for a few minutes. She wanted to thank Spencer, but he might not like her calling him at work. She didn't want to be one of those neurotic girlfriends that called every five minutes. She didn't want to give his coworkers reason to tease him. She decided to send him a text, instead.

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Reid poured out a new mug of coffee and added a couple of teaspoons of sugar. He stirred, sipped it tentatively and smiled. It was just to his liking. At least the FBI kept the jet stocked with decent tasting coffee.

Several minutes later, he sat attempting to read but failing because, despite his desire to distract himself, he couldn't stop thinking of Chriscelia and wondering about her reactions to his gifts. Was it too much to send the flowers and the strawberries? Would she think he was trying too hard to impress her? His phone beeped that he had a text message. He read it and grinned. It appeared he'd done the right thing with Chriscelia's gifts.

"Hey, Spence," JJ took the seat next to him.

"Hi," he quickly answered the text from Chriscelia and put aside his phone.

"You look pleased with yourself," she commented.

"Do I?"

"Yes. You were smiling. Don't get me wrong; I love to see you smile."

"A smile is indicative of happiness," he evaded easily.

"Want to talk about it."

"No. How is Henry and Michael," he changed the subject.

"Henry's not fond of Valentine's Day."

"Why?"

"Will called me. Henry came home sulking because the teachers had the kids make cards for their classmates. He didn't want to do it, especially for the girls."

"Henry's eight," Reid reminded her. "At his stage of development, girl have cooties."

"Cooties?" JJ laughed.

"His word, not mine," Reid explained.

"I guess I should be grateful I don't have to worry about romantic entanglements for a few years."

JJ leaned her head back, and after a few minutes, Spencer saw that she slept. He cheered his ability to turn her curiosity from him to Henry. At least the ladies had finally stopped ganging up on him for details about his love life. He smiled, then in the middle of thinking about his plans for the night, and despite his coffee, he fell asleep.

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Chriscelia knocked at his door four hours later. The first thing she saw other than Spencer, looking gorgeous, was his table set with glowing candles, crystal, china, and silver. Soft music played, and the lights were dim overhead.

"Wow," she said. "The table is beautiful, and the food smells wonderful.

"It's not as beautiful as you," he stated and let his eyes travel over the scarlet dress with spaghetti straps, and a sweetheart neckline she wore. She'd added matching shoes and glasses with red frames.

"You're not so bad yourself," she surveyed his charcoal gray suit with white shirt, a blood-red tie, and highly polished black shoes.

"Thanks," he kissed her softly on the lips. "Are you hungry?"

"It smells delicious."

"What's that?" He indicated the gift bag she carried.

She put aside her coat and handed him the bag. "It's a Valentine's Day gift for you."

"I told you that all I wanted was time spent with you," he reminded her.

"Apparently, I didn't listen," she joked. "I found this online three weeks ago, and thought you'd enjoy it."

He removed the red and silver tissue paper and pulled out a book. "Oh, this is amazing, Celia." He turned over the book and traced his hand over the cover. "Swann's Way," by Proust. Thank you." He opened the cover, and his eyes began to shine. "How did you find the first edition? It must have cost a fortune."

"Never mind about that," Chriscelia said. "I earned a big advance with my last book."

"Yes, but I can't accept –"

"You can because I want you to have it, Spencer. You said your mother used to read this to you. I know you probably have it memorized, but it's something physical you can hold onto."

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight for a long time. "Thank you," he finally whispered in her ear. "You'll never know what this means to me."

"I think I understand," she whispered back, and they separated.

He stood and went to his bookcase. He slid two books aside on the shelf that faced him at eye level and added the book. "There. It's right where I can see it, every time I pass the shelf."

Spencer turned away from the bookcase and studied Chriscelia for several quiet moments. "Thank you," he said again and joined her on the sofa.

After a minute Chriscelia indicated the room. "This is so beautiful, Spencer. You make a girl wonder what you're up to."

His eyebrows went into his bangs. "What do you mean?"

"The flowers and the strawberries. They are gorgeous and delicious, but they made me question something."

"What?"

She almost laughed at the concern in his eyes. "I wondered if you're trying to _seduce_ me, Dr. Reid."

"Oh," he swallowed hard. "Uh, well I thought we could have dinner and talk. I'm not trying to make you feel like you have to participate in anything that makes you uncomfortable and –"

She reached out, grabbed his tie, and pulled his face down. She kissed him until he stopped trying to pull away and his fingers found the zipper on her dress. "I'm not afraid," she whispered. "I want you so badly I can't think straight."

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"Now that was outstanding," Chriscelia sighed.

Reid slid his hand up and down her back as she lay sprawling over him in his bed.

"Amazing," he admitted.

"No nightmares this time."

He smiled at her. "I didn't plan for the evening to go quite this way. I don't want to rush you."

"You're not rushing me, Spencer. I know I have to stick with therapy, but I haven't had the nightmare in a week. I'd say that is progress, and it's due in part to you and your willingness to not push."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad because it was _extremely_ difficult for me to concentrate at work. I wanted to be with you because I love you, not because I needed sex."

"Too bad. I'm only interested in great sex, Dr. Reid."

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Celia."

"Already did, more than once."

He slapped her bare backside, and she squealed. "Watch it."

"That's what you get for the remark about great sex."

"Hey, we live in an equal society. Why should men corner the market on no strings attached sex?"

"Then I think you should buy me dinner," he pouted.

"You already made me dinner," she pointed out.

"It's take out."

"I figured," she laughed.

"Speaking of which, I'm starved," he declared.

"Then let's eat."

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Spencer surveyed Chriscelia as she enjoyed her chicken parmigiana. She wore his ratty old robe, and it looked better on her than it did on him.

"Hey, what are you thinking," she asked after a sip of the wine he'd chosen.

"That I can't believe there's a beautiful woman in my apartment, wearing my robe."

She flushed pink in the flickering lights of the candles. "I'm blown away by everything you've done. I've always hated Valentine's Day, until now."

"Me too. All the focus on cards and buying gifts. I see people at work getting flowers delivered to them, or hear them talk about what they're going to do for their partner. It's disheartening."

"Yes, that's just what I thought, until tonight."

"Chriscelia, are you sure you're okay with all of this?"

She put down her fork. "I'm so much better than fine, Spencer. I feel like I can do anything, even overcome all the issues I have that caused my nightmares and anxiety."

Spencer bit his lip. "I'm happy you said that because I don't want to do anything to push you away, or scare you."

"Is that what this is all about," she gestured to include the room. "Are you trying to prove to yourself that I'll stick around."

He looked down at his plate. "Yes, and I can tell from your expression that you're not happy."

"I'm disappointed that you still don't believe in me. I love you, Spencer. I'm doing everything I can to make you believe it and to trust in me."

"I feel like you're doing everything for me, instead of for you."

"Spencer, I'm seeing a therapist because I want to get better for _me_ , not for you."

"Are you sure?"

She tossed down her napkin. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure why I suddenly feel like I'll blow it."

"Is it because of Maeve?"

"No, why would you say that," he countered and a bit of anger jumped into his tone.

"Because she's the first person you ever loved. If she hadn't been killed, then you'd be with her."

"I'm not sure that's true," he said, and something in his eyes tamped down the anger that was beginning to make her blood hot.

"Why? You said she loved you."

"Yes, but all we ever knew of each other, were conversations on the phone. There's a better than sixty-three-point nine percent chance it wouldn't have worked out. Relationships begun in such circumstances are prone to problems."

"All right, let's say I accept that. What does that have to do with me?"

"You had a stalker too."

"Yes, but you didn't know that when we met."

"Our unconscious minds are capable of processing eleven million bits of information per second, and with my profiling skills… maybe I sensed something when I ran into you."

"Sooo, what you're saying is that you think the connection we both felt the first time we met is due to your unconscious desire to save another damsel in distress."

"Chriscelia, that's not what I met."

She stood. "I think I better leave."

"No! Please don't go. Hear me out!"

"Why should I? You're saying that you believe the only reason we started seeing each other is that you may have sensed something about me that _I_ didn't even know myself because you once loved a woman that _you_ couldn't save from a crazy stalker. Is that, about right?"

"Yes," he said miserably.

She blew out a breath. "I think I better go now."

"Please don't go, Celia. I love you."

"Do you, or do you love what I represent, a second chance for you to prove you can come riding in at the last minute and save the day, like some movie fantasy hero? I have news for you, Spencer Reid. I _don't_ need saving."

"Chriscelia, I'm not trying to save you."

"Then what is it. My therapist said I should confront my issues and not hide from them. Why can't you do the same?"

"You're right," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm thirty-five, I've never had a serious relationship with a woman, or at least not one with a woman that wasn't in mortal danger. I don't know how to proceed."

"Why don't we start with a little honesty. Do you want me, or am I a substitute for Maeve?"

"I _want_ you," he said with such conviction and pain in his eyes, she sat down and listened to him. "I want someone I can cherish, who will accept me for all that I am, including the part of me that does incredibly stupid things like pushing you away. I don't want you to go, Chriscelia, but if you think it's best, then I won't stop you."

She wiped away a tear that crawled down her face. "I love you, despite your doubts about us because I know you trust me, but we need to talk."

"You're right," he said. "We need to discuss where we go from here."

"I don't want to do this tonight because it's getting late, I'm tired."

"I understand."

"I don't think you do. I'm not leaving. I'm staying _right_ here, that is if you're all right with me spending the night."

"I can sleep on the couch," he suggested.

She suddenly laughed, and he said. "What's so funny?"

"Well, I meet you here, we immediately make love, then we eat, have a fight, and now you're suggesting we sleep apart."

He grinned at her. "Yes, I see your point."

"We'll sleep in the same bed, like mature adults."

"I think that's a great idea."

Chriscelia rolled her eyes. "Take it down a notch, or I'll rethink the mature adults part of the equation."

"I do love math."

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Keep it up!"

"I'm sorry, you're right."

"Yes, I am," she said primly and made him laugh.

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Chriscelia opened her eyes after a night of dreamless sleep in Spencer's bed. She sat up and giggled because he lay sprawled on his back with both arms spread eagle. His bare chest was extremely appealing in the golden light of the winter dawn, so she leaned down and began to feather kisses over it.

"Hm…" he groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. "Morning," he said and smiled at her.

"Morning, babe."

He stretched and sat up. "How did you sleep?"

"Wonderful, no nightmares or dreams that I can remember."

"I'm glad."

She tangled her legs with his and sighed. "I wish we could stay like this forever."

"I concur."

Chriscelia giggled. "You have such a way with words."

"That's not what you said the other night when I beat you at Scrabble."

She sat up and narrowed her eyes at him. "Just for that reminder, I think it's time for me to go."

"Oh, no." he grabbed her and reversed their positions so that he hovered over her like a predator bird about to strike. "You're not going anywhere, Ms. Moore."

Her hands buried in his hand and tugged painfully. "What if I say I'm too exhausted from last night?"

He grinned at her and ran one long finger down her chin, to her neck, and along her breastbone. She shivered and groaned. "I'd say I think you're lying."

Chriscelia tugged harder on his hair. "Maybe you're right," she said breathlessly and cried out when his mouth found it's favorite spot and began to devour her.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Chriscelia carried two steaming mugs to her living room. Spencer lay stretched out on the sofa with his shoes kicked off and his head on one of her decorative throw pillows. "I'm not sure I should give you this," she said as she put his mug on the glass coffee table.

Spencer stretched his arms over his head. "It's just what I need."

"No, you _need_ about ten hours of sleep, my love."

Spencer sat up slowly, yawned and reached for the coffee. He sipped it and sighed. "This is just the way I like it."

Chriscelia took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Spencer, I know we agreed to talk about what happened last week, but I can tell you're exhausted. Why don't you take a nap?"

He yawned again. "No, this is too important to me. We need to talk about it."

Chriscelia nodded and sat down. "I'm sorry I was _so_ angry with you the other night. I talked to Dr. Osorio, and she agrees that I might be a little insecure when it comes to you."

Spencer hung his head for a minute, then met her eyes. "I'm sorry I made you feel as if you're filling in for Maeve. Yes, I loved her, but not like I love you, Chriscelia. She was a fantasy, in many ways, a voice on the phone that needed my help. She appealed to my male ego, and the part of me that became an FBI agent. I wanted to help her. I had no idea where we'd go if I succeeded. Honestly, I hadn't thought past finding her stalker and stopping her. I don't know what I thought would happen after it was over."

"What are you trying to say?" Chriscelia asked.

"I'm trying to say that I fell in love with a woman that needed my protection and I failed her miserably. Afterward, I decided that no matter what, I'd never let anyone get close enough to fail again. I know I've obsessed about my mother because I don't want to fail her. Then I run into you, literally and you get past my carefully constructed walls with a minimum of effort. I didn't want to love you, Chriscelia because I didn't want to hurt again."

"I think I understand," Chriscelia said. "Then I have my stalker, and you had to deal with it. You must have been thrown for a loop in many ways."

"I was," he admitted. "I was drawn to you, and I didn't know why. I didn't know if it's because I truly sensed that something wasn't right and I was determined not to let anything happen to you for your sake or mine and that confused and frightened me."

Spencer watched her and saw the pain and confusion warring with the love he'd seen for weeks. His heart plummeted because he knew she might decide it was too much trouble to love him and he couldn't take it.

Chriscelia drew in a deep breath and reached out for his hand. "Dr. Osorio did say I should be honest with you, but she also said I need to stop reading into everything you say. I do feel insecure when it comes to you."

"Chriscelia, I don't want – "

"Please let me finish, Spencer. I am trying to enjoy what we have and not think about it too much." She saw that he was grinning at her and there was laughter in his eyes. "What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to appear amused at your expense; it's just that everyone always tells me I think too much."

Chriscelia smirked at him. "I suppose we have more in common than we realize."

"What do we do about it?" Spencer asked as he ran his hand through her hair.

"I've been experimenting with remembering all the reasons we clicked in the first place when I'm feeling insecure."

"I think that's a good idea."

"I want this to work, Spencer. The last two months have been the best of my life."

Spencer nodded. "I agree… You showed me how to be happy again, Chriscelia."

"I'm glad."

She climbed into his lap, and he kissed her. Her hands moved into his hair and tugged as his mouth opened and her tongue found his teeth. He pushed back when he couldn't catch his breath. "Are you sure you want to do this now because we can – "

She shushed him with another kiss. "I'm not letting you leave here without…" She whispered in his ear, and his eyes went wide. "I – ah, um well, I _think_ I'm up for that."

Chriscelia slid her hand between them and smirked. "Oh yeah, you're _up_ for that."

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Mid-March passed, its days wrapped in cloaks of rain and gray mists. Spencer shivered as he stared out the window of his apartment on a Sunday morning. He sipped from a hot cup of coffee and thought about turning up the furnace.

A knock at his door banished thought of cold rain, and he smiled. "Hello," he greeted Chriscelia with a kiss.

"It's freezing out there I hope it doesn't turn to snow. I'm _so_ done with winter."

Chriscelia pulled off her coat and let Spencer take her umbrella to drip dry in the kitchen sink. She kissed him again, and her chilled lips made him laugh and shiver.

"I think you need to warm up."

"Being here with you is doing wonders for my body temperature," she quipped as she looked him up and down.

"You're terrible," he responded while adding a couple of degrees to the furnace temperature control.

"I can't help it if you're entirely too attractive for your own good."

"You think it's so, which is good enough for me."

Chriscelia made herself comfortable on his sofa. "I love your place." She sighed. "It's so homey."

"It's a mess," he said.

"That's okay. Just because I'm a clean freak doesn't mean you have to be one as well."

"You want tea," he asked.

"Yes, that would be nice."

Spencer felt her eyes on him as he went about the task of making tea. For reasons, he didn't understand, her eyes following him didn't make him feel nervous. It was as if she belonged in his space.

"I'm glad you weren't called into work," Chriscelia commented. "This is perfect, by the way," she said of the tea he handed her.

"Me too, and thank you."

Spencer curled an arm around her shoulders, and they sat in contented silence as the rain tapped the windows.

"Are you sure you're ready for this," Spencer asked after several minutes.

Chriscelia nodded. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"You're sure."

"We've talked about it. We each know how the other feels about taking this step. Let's _do_ it."

Spencer stood, held out his hand, and pulled her to the table near one of his windows. They took their seat across from one another as lightning split the sky and thunder boomed overhead.

"Now," Spencer began. "The most important thing to know about the game of Chess is to think outside the box."

"Think outside the box," Chriscelia repeated. "What does _that_ mean?"

"There are three steps to the game, aggressive opening, patient mid-game and the inevitable checkmate. There are some who think it's impossible to play through every permutation of the game, that the number is infinite, but I've determined that while it's exponentially large, it's not infinite."

Spencer stopped talking when he realized that Chriscelia wasn't listening. Instead, she had a gleam in her eyes that he recognized.

"Chriscelia, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," she said as though he held her in rapt attention. "You're _so_ hot when you use million dollar words."

"I thought you wanted to learn chess," he scolded.

"Oh yeah, chess." Chriscelia straightened, put her hands on each side of the board and said, "I'm ready, Professor."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Must you do that?"

"What?"

"Play the naughty student."

"Was I?"

Spencer sighed as the rain rattled the windows. "May I ask for your _full_ attention?"

Chriscelia saluted him. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

"Now, this is the king," he held up the white piece. "The goal is to trap him with your pieces."

"Trap him with my gang," Chriscelia repeated. "Excellent."

"The king may move once in any direction. He has a special move called castling, which involves moving a pawn, but we'll talk about that later."

"One move in any direction," Chriscelia said.

"The king only moves when leaving his space doesn't leave him open to attack from the other side."

Chriscelia nodded. "I feel like I need to take notes."

"Chess does take a while to learn. It can't be done all in one day."

"That's reassuring."

"Hey," he reached for her hand. "You're smart enough to learn, Chriscelia."

"Not smart enough to beat you. You're the _genius_ , remember?"

"Not so," he said seriously. "You remember Gideon?"

"Your old boss? He was like a dad to you, and he was murdered."

"Yes. I played him multiple times and only beat him once."

"Really?"

Spencer fingered the white queen. "He told me to keep trying, and eventually I beat him. It doesn't matter if you're a genius or not; anyone can play chess and win."

Thunder growled, and lightening flashed as thought punctuating his point. "Okay," Chriscelia said and rubbed her hands together. "Carry on."

Spencer explained the movements of all pieces, then setup a game.

"Do _not_ let me win," she warned him.

"I won't," he promised. "But don't take losing personally."

"Who said I couldn't win."

Spencer grinned at her. "There's no easy answer for that, right?"

Chriscelia smirked at him. "Nope."

"All right, _smart_ lady, make your move."

To say that the game was a blowout for Spencer, was an understatement, in his opinion. "Checkmate," he announced as he moved his last pawn into position.

Chriscelia frowned. "I don't like this game."

"You told me not to let you win," Spencer reminded her.

"In girl speak, that meant you're supposed to let me win."

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, and his phone rang, "This isn't over," he promised.

Chriscelia stuck out her tongue as he went to answer his old fashioned rotary dial phone. He began to speak to the person on the other line. After about thirty seconds, he turned so white she thought he might collapse.

"Spencer, what's wrong?"

He waved her off and continued to speak. She heard him mention his mother and her heart sank. Finally, he hung up the phone and stood as though he didn't know where he was in the world.

"Hey, babe, what happened?"

He blinked slowly as though awakening from a deep sleep.

"Sit," Chriscelia said and tugged him to the couch. She pushed him down and sat. Spencer stared at her with eyes that made her think of a small child in unimaginable torment. She took his hand and put an arm around him.

"What's wrong, my love?"

"M-my, mom. She's gone."

"What?"

"She's d-dead," he spat out, and tears slipped from his eyes.

"Oh my, God. I'm _so_ sorry, Spencer."

He twisted in her arms, dropped his head to her shoulder and sobbed in a way that shattered her heart. Pure misery radiated from him like heat from a glowing furnace. She held him tight and forced back the tears that threatened to overspill her eyes. "Shh… It's going to be alright," she tried to soothe. She rubbed his back and let her hands slide up and down his arms. "It's all right, babe."

Long minutes later, he lifted his head, and she almost flinched away from him. His eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, and utterly dead. The light that lived there was extinguished like the flame of a candle. "I have to go home," he said and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Hey, wait."

"I have to go," he insisted.

"I know, Spencer. Let me handle it. I promise everything will be fine."

Spencer sat, dropping down like a deflated balloon on a calm spring day.

Chriscelia walked away by sheer force of will to get her phone from her purse. She dialed a new number she'd added to her contacts only weeks ago. "Hey," she greeted the voice on the other end of the line. "It's me, Chriscelia. Something's happened, and I need your help, Garcia."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n thank you all for your patience in waiting for this update. I have a nasty cold that's still lingering, so it will be awhile for the next chapter as well. Also, thank you to everyone that voted for my stories in the Profiler's Choice Awards. I won for Best Unusual Pairing with "Sleepover," and for Best Characterization of Reid for "Memoirs of a Godfather." Thank you all again, you're all the best fans a person can have. Thank you once again to my awesome beta REIDFANATIC for her support and her friendship._**

March in Las Vegas meant sunshine so bright it hurt the eyes. Chriscelia couldn't believe how warm it was while the calendar still said winter, at least for three more days. The windows of their hotel room looked out over the city to I-15. Chriscelia turned away from them and crossed their suite to the bedroom. Spencer still slept even though it was almost eleven am. The red eye flight and checking into the hotel had taken what small reservoirs of strength he had left. She'd let him sleep for a couple of hours, and then they'd talk.

"Mom?"

The questioning plea of a child tinged Spencer's voice and drew her to his side. "Babe," she climbed into bed with him and curled into his side. "Hey, it's all right. I'm here, my love."

"Mom?" A lone tear slid from under an eyelid and down a cheek. "Don't go," he begged.

"Shh…" Chriscelia feathered her fingers through his hair. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

Spencer relaxed under her caressing fingers. She continued to skim her hand up and down his back and through his hair.

"I wish I could make it all go away, Spencer. You're too kind and gentle to deserve so much pain."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. Her lips encountered the salty residue of his tears, and her heart jumped. Her voice shook with an ache she couldn't keep at bay. "I'll always be here."

She hugged him tight, and his warmth made her sigh. If only they were traveling for a reason other than saying goodbye to his mother. After a few minutes, she hovered in that place between waking and sleep when Spencer moved. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her with pain and relief in his beautiful eyes.

"I'm so happy you're here with me, Chriscelia. I was dreaming that I never met you and I had to go through this alone."

He shuddered, and she hugged him even tighter to her chest. "I'm not going anywhere, my love. How do you feel?"

He drew in a breath as though it hurt him to take in air. "I feel like I'm in the middle of a waking dream. I keep hoping every time I open my eyes, I'll be home, and my mom will be alive and well, or as well as she could be on any day."

"I do understand." Chriscelia kissed him. "I wish I could do more than listen."

"That's what I need, Celia. Someone to listen and to let me breakdown if I need to."

"You can break down as many times as you need."

Spencer lay his head on her shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Reid let go of her and pulled up to a sitting position. "I need a shower, and then I'll call my father."

"You sure? You don't have to do this right now. You need a few more hours of sleep."

"No. I need to get up, or I'll stay in this bed permanently."

"All right."

Spencer emerged about twenty minutes later to find Chriscelia on the couch in the living area. She was writing in a notebook. She looked up and greeted him. "Hey, you feel better?"

"I feel more awake, but not better. I still feel like I'm in shock."

He joined her on the sofa. She put aside her notebook and took his hand. "I think you feel exactly the way the way you do because it's what you need right now if that makes any sense." She smiled at him, and he sighed.

"Yeah, it makes sense. Everyone goes through the stages of grief at different times."

His phone rang, interrupting him and when he saw that it was Garcia's number, he nearly decided to let it go to voice mail, then he picked it up because she wouldn't stop calling until he answered.

"Hey, Garcia."

"Hello, my sweet cheeks. How are you?"

"I'm out of bed and functioning on about half-speed."

"I'm so sorry, Spencer."

"I know, Penelope. Thank you."

"I'm to tell you that the team has everything in hand. You're not to worry about us. We love you and want you to think about what's best for you."

"Thanks, Garcia. Right now, I can't make myself believe it's real. I'm in a bit of denial."

"Oh, Spencer. What can I do?"

"Nothing. Just keep believing that everything happens for a reason because right now I'm having a _lot_ of trouble with that concept."

"I'll believe it for both of us."

He found the strength to smile. "I love you, do you know that?"

"I do, but it's good to hear. I love you too, sweet cheeks."

Spencer clicked off his phone and laid it on the end table. He wandered to the window that looked out on the desert. It was a sunny day with a brilliant blue sky overhead. He knew it would be at least twenty degrees warmer than DC and it wasn't right. It should be rainy and cold, and gray instead. He stood without moving until he felt arms encircle his waist. "Hey," Chriscelia kissed his shoulder.

"I guess I should call my dad, but I don't want to. I want to live in denial and pretend that we're here to visit, instead of saying goodbye to my mom."

"Oh baby, I wish I it were true. I wish I could've met her and had the opportunity to know her as your mother and as a person."

"I know," he turned to her and put his hands on her face. "I wish more than anything that she could've known you for all that you are. You're a kind, sweet, beautiful woman who doesn't let me get away with anything and knows how to take care of herself. Your writing is entertaining, and it has a soul that touches hearts, which is why you're so successful. I wanted my mom to see all of that."

"Perhaps she sees it now," Chriscelia said.

"A few years ago, I didn't believe in an afterlife. When Tobias kidnaped me, my beliefs began to change. When my heart stopped, and I was clinically dead, I saw something, light, and warmth that I wanted to embrace."

She put her head on his chest. "I'm glad you didn't because I _need_ you, Spencer Reid."

"I need you too."

Spencer wrapped his arms around her and held her to him as though he were afraid she'd fly away like a gull over storm-tossed ocean waves. She kissed him where his neck and shoulder met. "You don't have to go anywhere or do anything, Spencer. Please just relax for a few hours and let me hold you."

"I wish I could," he whispered. "You don't know how much I want to sit here for the rest of the day and hold onto you, but I have to see my dad."

Chriscelia sighed and reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes. "I know seeing him now isn't easy. What can I do?"

"Will you go with me?"

"Yes."

"I wish you'd met him in different circumstances, but – "

"Shhh…" Chriscelia continued to stroke his hair back from his forehead. "Life doesn't grant us the right time for most things in life, babe."

He chuckled a little, and the sound made her heart lift just a bit. "You're right, of course. I just wish I had more time with her."

He sat up and Chriscelia adjusted her hold on him to just an arm around his shoulders and her head on his upper arm. "You said you'd become closer in the last three years."

"We have. I finally decided it was time to let go of the past. I know he never stopped loving my mom, and I know he loves me, too, but it was extremely difficult to see for most of my life."

"He left," Chriscelia said. "It's not easy to forgive abandonment."

"No," he agreed. "You're right, but for good or ill, he's all I have left now. I need to call him." He stood and reached for his cell phone. He looked at it and let out a bitter laugh. "A few years ago, I would have been too angry with him to reach out like this. Maybe, in this case, life got the timing right."

Chriscelia smiled. "I think you're right."

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Chriscelia answered the door to their hotel suite when a server from room service brought up the brunch she'd ordered for them. She arranged the food when Spencer stepped back into the room after calling his father. "What's this?"

"I thought we could use some food."

"I'm not hungry."

"Please try to eat a little," she pleaded. "I don't want you to get sick."

"I'll try."

Spencer took a slice of buttered toast and bit into it. He chewed as if he didn't taste it. He ignored the coffee which Chriscelia took as a bad sign.

"Do you want to talk about your conversation with your dad?"

He shook his head. "There's nothing to tell. He wants to see me and meet you. I thought it might be easier if he came here. I'm not ready to go to his place with you. I hope you understand."

She nodded. "I do understand, Spencer. I hope we'll have plenty of opportunities to spend time in his home."

"Me too."

Her appetite suffered rather than increased as usual when she felt stress, and she couldn't eat more than a few mouthfuls of the scrambled eggs she ordered. She picked up a red grape from the fruit plate and popped it in her mouth, but the sweetness was cloying. She saw that Spencer ate half the slice of toast and some of the bacon before pushing back from the table and going to the sofa.

"Not a good idea," she said and picked up her glass of juice.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not hungry."

"Neither am I," she said and went to the sofa. "Sorry I tried to push it."

He moved back into her arms. "It's okay. I'm sure I'll have to take in calories at some point."

"Until further notice, you're not required to do anything or feel any way about anything," she said she a tiny smile.

"Thank you, Celia. I'm not entirely sure what I'd do without you here."

"Good, because I'm sticking around for as long as you need."

"Then forever," Spencer said and kissed her.

"That's the plan," she responded after he released her lips.

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Two hours later, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of Spencer's father. Chriscelia squeezed Spencer's hand and kissed him. "It's going to be okay."

He drew in a breath, blew it out, and went to the door. "Hello, Dad."

They shook hands, and William Reid stepped into the entryway. "Hello, Spencer."

After a minute, William seemed to some to some decision. He clasped Reid into his arms and thumped him hard on the back. "I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely, and there were tears in his voice as he spoke.

Spencer flinched, tried to pull away, then let his father hug him. For the first time since childhood, he felt comfort in the touch of his dad, and he stopped struggling to push him away. "I'm sorry, too, Dad."

William released him and pulled back. "I wish – "

"Don't," Spencer said. "We can't change what happened in the past. You and I have reached an understanding, and I want to move on from there, okay?"

"You're more forgiving than you should be, Spencer."

"No, but now that I have four little boys in my life that I love, I understand things more from your side."

"Thank you," William said and wiped at his eyes. "I'm so glad you found a way to forgive me. I can't imagine losing your mom without you in my life for a little ill-deserved support. I never stopped loving her, son."

"I know, dad. She never stopped loving you. I could see it every time she spoke of you."

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome."

William noticed Chriscelia standing back from them, her eyes on him as if she were evaluating him as a possible problem. "Is this the woman you told me about, Spencer?"

"Oh yes, I'm sorry, Celia. This is my father, William Reid. Dad, this is Chriscelia Moore."

"I'm pleased to meet you."

Chriscelia stepped forward and shook his hand. She looked at Spencer, and he nodded. "I'm glad to meet you too, Mr. Reid."

"Will you please call me, William? I'm sure you've heard all about me. Everything Spencer has told you is true. I did abandon him and his mother when he was ten. It was the worst mistake I ever made, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to him. I was so thrilled when he told me about you. He loves you very much."

"I love him, too."

"Why don't we sit?" Spencer said.

They went to the living room. William took one of the wingback chairs, and Spencer took the sofa with Chriscelia by his side.

"Spencer tells me you write."

"Yes. I've published two books, and another will be on the shelves in about six months."

"Spencer always loved to read. Dianna," he began, and his voice cracked. "She loved to read to you," he directed to Spencer.

"I remember, dad."

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. "Have you spoken to her doctor, Spencer," inquired William.

"Yes, he said she had a massive stroke in her sleep. He said it was painless and – " He had to stop and clear his throat. "She didn't suffer." Chriscelia took his hand and held it tightly. "I guess that's good, right?"

"Yes," William said and swallowed hard.

"Dad, I'm sorry I took her away for all those weeks. I thought I was doing the right thing, and all I did was rob you of time with her. Will you forgive me?"

William stared at his son. "There's nothing to forgive, Spencer. I robbed myself of time with her by giving into selfishness and weakness. I'm to blame for losing precious years with her. You were doing what you thought was right."

Spencer sighed. "All I know is that I have to stop thinking about what if I'd just left her in Bennington where she was happy. I have to be grateful that she passed away in a familiar place instead of at the Anderson Clinic where she was so unhappy."

"As I said, you have nothing to apologize for, Spencer. I'm glad your mother was happy at the end."

"I wish I knew what to do now," Spencer said. "I feel like I've forgotten something, or that I need to do something important and I can't think of what I'm supposed to do."

"Son, you don't need to do anything but spend time with the ones that love you," he looked at Chriscelia. "I'm glad he has you. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, William. I love him. I'll stay here as long as he needs and support him in whatever he decides to do."

Spencer reached over and patted her hand. She laid her head on his shoulder. "I have no idea what she wanted for a service, dad."

"I know what she wanted," William said. "One thing we did right was planning our final expenses and what we wanted for a service. You mother asked to be cremated, and her brain donated to science."

"What? Are you serious?"

William took in his son's utter shock and thought about the first time Dianna had asked their lawyer to put it in her will. He too had been flabbergasted until he realized she was completely and totally serious.

"Yes, it's in her will. She specified it soon after her diagnosis of Schizophrenia. She said that the medical profession might be able to find an anomaly that explained her mental illness and therefore help others."

"Is her will binding? Doesn't a person have to be of sound mind?"

"There's no law that says a person must be of sound mind and body to make a will. All they have to have is testamentary capacity which means – "

"They know the nature of their actions; they know the natural objects of their bounty, know the nature and extent of their property and understand the disposition of their assets called for by the will," Chriscelia listed.

William and Spencer stared at her. "Yes," said William. "That's right."

"I learned about wills when I did research for my most recent book."

Spencer squeezed her forearm. "Nice," he said and smiled at her.

"I think it's a good idea," Chriscelia said. "If you don't mind my sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong."

Spencer shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it's what she wanted, so we do it."

"I've already looked into the best way to handle it. I have a friend that specializes in medical law and the donations of bodies to medical science. He'll handle everything."

Spencer nodded. "Alright, I guess that leaves the service."

"We don't have to to this today," William said.

Spencer looked at Chriscelia. "What do you think?"

"I think your dad is right. Let's leave it until tomorrow, babe."

William stood. "I think I better go."

"You don't have to go, Dad."

William surveyed the couple in front of him and how they clung to each other. He saw how Chriscelia could calm his son with just a touch and a look. He cleared his throat and tried not to think about when he was a young man and deeply in love with Dianna. "I do," he insisted. "You need some time alone. We'll talk tomorrow."

"I'll call you," Spencer said.

William nodded, then stepped over and bent to hug his son. "I love you."

"I love you too, Dad. Thanks."

"It was great to meet you, William," Chriscelia got up to see him to the door.

"Please take care of him," William pleaded quietly. "He needs you."

"I will."

She let him out of the suite and watching him go to the elevator before going back to the couch. "Hey," she said softly to Spencer as she cuddled up to him.

"Hey."

"I like your dad."

Spencer sighed and nodded again. "I do too, but it's hard to forget the bad times. I wish…" He shook his head. "If wishes were pennies, I'd be a millionaire."

"I think I know what you mean."

He pulled away from her. "Will you come with me? I suddenly want to get out of this room and breathe in some fresh air."

"Sure," she stood. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n thanks to you all for patiently waiting for this update. I'm finally shaking off the cold that's had**_ it's _ **way with me for the last three weeks. Also, I've had computer problems as well. I will try to update more often.**_

Spencer piloted their rental car onto a quiet residential area worlds away from the bright neon and crowded casinos of the Strip.

"I grew up in this neighborhood," Spencer answered Chriscelia's unspoken question.

"I'm not sure what I expected," Chriscelia remarked. "It's dumb now, but I guess I thought of Las Vegas as all bright lights and casinos."

Spencer glanced over at her and favored her with a smile that warmed her soul to see. "I believe some people think we all work for the casinos and they house us in dormitories behind them."

Chriscelia giggled. "Now there's a visual!"

They fell silent for a few moments as Spencer guided the rental down the tree lined streets. "See that house," he pointed left. "That's where I lived until I was four."

"Is that when you moved because of the pedophile?"

"Yes."

"It's beautiful," she said as they cruised slowly past the two-story red brick home.

"I wish I could remember more about my life there," he remarked wistfully and pulled to the curb down the block. He stared out the window. "All I remember about this house is what happened to Riley Jenkins and my parent's involvement."

Chriscelia reached over and touched his hand. He gripped her fingers tight. "Let's go."

Chriscelia didn't argue as they pulled away from the curb and continued down the street. Three blocks north, Reid turned into the entrance to a city park and drifted slowly to a parking slot. Despite the sunshine and the mild temperatures, few people enjoyed the grass and the concrete walking paths that day.

"Will you walk with me?"

"Of course," Chriscelia said.

Spencer reached for her hand when they stepped from the car to the sidewalk. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. He's usually here this time of day."

"Let's go see," Chriscelia encouraged.

They strolled east and then turned right and down a small rise to a playground area. Several children made use of the equipment. Their carefree laughter blended with the bright sunlight to form an atmosphere that seemed impossible to dim, but they didn't yet now the realities of life as did the adults that watched them at their play. Spencer guided her left along another path that led to the opposite side of the park and past a fountain that wasn't in operation at the time.

At their right stood several rectangular shaped tables made from poured concrete with attached benches on either side. Three pairs of opponents faced off against each other at three of the tables. At one of the tables sat a man with a cane next to his bench.

Chriscelia followed Spencer to the man with the cane, who wore dark glasses and who played with a rotating board.

"Howard," Spencer greeted.

Howard didn't look up, but he said, "Is that you, Spencer?"

"You know it is, Howie."

"I thought I recognized you, but it's been awhile, son." Howard's large, blunt fingers moved the white rook into position near a black pawn.

"Checkmate in four," Spencer said as he studied the board.

"Isn't he amazing, young lady." Howard said to Chriscelia

"Um, yes," Chriscelia stuttered. "He is."

Chriscelia tried to see what Spencer saw, but she couldn't read the board like Spencer. She had the feeling that no one could read the board like Spencer, except for the giant of a man before her.

"Not as amazing as you, Howie."

The smiling man before them tilted his square, bald head, "Just practice, my boy. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

"Sit," said Howard. "And tell me what sorrow is weighing down your soul."

Spencer sat on the opposite side of Howard with Chriscelia perched next to him. "This is Chriscelia, my girlfriend."

"I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am."

Chriscelia shook his hand. "I'm glad to know you."

Howard's smile showed off snow white teeth that gleamed from the frame of his midnight black skin. "You're the first lady friend of Spencer's I've met. That make you special."

"Howard?"

"It's true," Howard rumbled in a gravely, but pleasant voice.

"Thank you," was all Chriscelia could think of to say.

"Now," Howard continued. "Tell me what's on your mind, Spencer."

"Mom passed away last night," Spencer said bluntly as a lone tear made its way down his cheek.

Howard's hands stilled in their course. "My God, son. I'm so sorry... She was a formidable woman."

"She asked about you a few weeks ago. I think you were her favorite amateur book critic."

Howard's somber face brightened a little around his dark glasses. "She was always too generous with her praise."

"I think she found you a bit intimidating," Spencer said.

Chriscelia could she why Spencer's mother felt intimidated by Howard. Although he sat, Chriscelia could see that he probably stood several inches taller than Spencer. His denim jacket stretched over his bulky physic. His face was unlined except for laugh lines at the edges of his sunglasses and smile lines around his mouth. She thought it was an attractive face that didn't give away his true age.

"I doubt that," Howard said. "Your mother knew how to take care of herself."

"Yes, she did," Spencer agreed.

"I'm sorry for you, dear boy."

"I wish we'd had more time."

"Don't wish for more time. Remember the good things and how much Dianna loved you."

"I'm not sure I can take that advice." Spencer squeaked and wiped at his eyes.

"One day you will. For now, we play chess and talk about your good memories."

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Chriscelia sat with Spencer in the hotel suite after an hour of chess and sharing memories with Howard. "Howard's a nice man," she remarked as she sat with her head lying on Spencer's shoulder.

"Yeah. Howard always fascinated me."

"Because he's blind."

Spencer's hand halted briefly from stroking through her hair. "You picked up on that? He fools most people because he can beat anyone that challenges him to chess. They assume he sees as well as them. You noticed that he knew you were there without hearing your voice. I'll bet he smelled your perfume."

"I was floored when I realized," Chriscelia admitted. "I can't imagine playing chess without my eyes. I can't manage it with all my senses."

"He was born blind and grew up in an orphanage in St. Paul, Minnesota. One of the cooks there taught him to play."

"How does he do it?"

"I'm not sure. I think Howard can see the board and the pieces in his head."

"Like you?"

Spencer shook his head. "No, not like me. He's never seen the board or the pieces, but somehow his sense of touch maps the board in his brain. It's amazing."

"He beat you today."

Spencer grinned at Chriscelia and for the first time in twenty-four hours, the smile reached his eyes. "I didn't let him win."

"I didn't think so. You insist on winning fair, no matter who plays you. As I learned when you taught me," Chriscelia said.

"I can't give you special treatment. Fair is fair."

"Then why do you cheat at poker with your team?"

"Counting cards isn't cheating," he insisted. "Poker's different than chess."

"In what way," Chriscelia wondered.

"Because chess is _serious_ and poker is _fun_."

"I see."

Spencer turned his head and kissed the top of Chriscelia's forehead. "As I told you, chess Is complicated, but I still think you can learn it and eventually become quite good."

Chriscelia shook her head. "I'm not sure if I believe you."

Spencer gathered her up into his arms. "Thank you for going out with me today. I needed to get out of this room, and I needed to see Howard."

"I know," she said into his shoulder. "You don't have to thank me, baby. I'm so worried about you."

"I'll be alright," Spencer promised her. "I just need time to adjust."

Chriscelia sat back. "Is it too early for me to say that you will adjust."

Reid shook his head. "No. It's something I know in my head," he pointed to his temple, "but need to learn in my heart."

Chriscelia kissed him. "Take your time. There no rule that says you have to feel better in a week, or a month, or a year."

Spencer nodded. "Thank you for caring so much."

"I can't help it," Chriscelia said, and a tear coursed down her cheek. "We've both lost so much in the last few months."

"Yes," Spencer agreed, "but we've gained so much more together."

Chriscelia and Spencer were quiet for a few minutes. Then Chriscelia chuckled lightly.

"What?" Spencer wanted to know.

"I was thinking about Howard's story of you playing chess with another woman in the park. Your mother said it was time to go home and you threw a tantrum."

Spencer's face went rosy pink in the cheeks. "I was four," he protested. "Kids that age are often unreasonable."

"Yes, but it was nice to know you were a typical kid," Chriscelia said.

"Of course, I was," Spencer replied.

Chriscelia smirked at the indignation in his eyes. It was such a relief to see it temper the anguish. "I'm just remarking that it's fun for me. When I think of you as a kid, I get the image of a quiet, sweet little guy, who's as well-behaved as an adult. I guess I was a bit unrealistic."

"I'm sure I had to develop the same as any child, and that includes the occasional temper tantrum."

"I'll bet they were very rare." Chriscelia guessed.

"I couldn't give into childish behavior after my dad left," Spencer said, soberly. "I had to grow up fast."

"Oh, I'm sorry I brought up bad memories," Chriscelia said and hugged him tightly.

"It's okay. They weren't all bad. My mother and I sort of lived in our own world, which I suppose a therapist would consider abnormal. Maybe it was."

"Spencer…"

"Maybe if I'd grown up in a real family –"

"Stop," Chriscelia said. "You didn't have the typical family life, but it made you who you are. You're compassionate, kind, strong and wise. I love all of those things about you."

"I could have gone the other way and become a version of Norman Bates," Spencer said.

"Don't even joke about that," Chriscelia pulled away from him. "That's _not_ funny."

"It's true, though," Spencer said seriously.

"I don't care," Chriscelia said. "I believe we make our own way. I know you profilers see the worst in humanity. I know that most serial killers had abusive relationships with some female figure in their lives, but they choose to do evil. You had an unconventional, but healthy relationship with your mom."

Spencer studied her as she spoke. Her face was red with passion and her eyes sparkled. She was so beautiful it hurt, and she loved him. It was a miracle.

"All right, I'll stop arguing," Spencer held up his hands in surrender.

"Good," she grinned at him. "It's about time you learned not to mess with me."

Spencer hugged her again and said. "Do you know how much I love you, Celia."

"I think I have some idea."

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A few hours later, Spencer expressed a desire to have a bite to eat. Chriscelia agreed, and they decided to eat in the hotel restaurant, rather than deal with getting dressed up to go out. The restaurant was called a coffee shop but had a menu that featured classic comfort food.

"Everything looks delicious," Chriscelia said.

"Yes. I think I'm going to have some prime rib."

"I like the looks of the chicken pot pie."

They closed their menus, and soon a server brought them the drinks they'd ordered and took their entrée selections. "Good choices," she said as she gathered up the menus. "I love the prime rib. If you need anything, my name is Sarah."

"Thanks," Spencer said.

"I wonder if they truly like the food, or if they just say regardless of the selection," Chriscelia said.

Spencer smiled at her, and she grinned back. "That's a bit cynical, don't you think," he teased.

She shrugged. "Perhaps a bit. Still, it is their job to sell a product."

"True," Spencer agreed.

After a few minutes of sipping their drinks, Chriscelia said. "You never told me how you met Howard."

"My mom had a good day, and she decided we should go on a picnic. We walked to the park and had lunch. She pushed me on the swing for a while, and then I said I wanted to play chess. She took me to the chessboards and Howard was there. Mom said I went right over to him and asked for a game. I know that it must have surprised him, even blind, to hear a child's voice asking to play. As usually happened he tried to dumb it down for me until he realized that I could beat him, then it got serious. It was my mother that realized he was blind. She was flabbergasted, but I didn't care. When you're a kid, you take things more as they are, I think."

"Wow, I'll bet your mom was impressed."

Spencer got a faraway look in his eyes. "Yeah, she was. Afterward, whenever we'd play, she'd talk to him about everything. Despite how he grew up, he's amazingly well-read and intelligent."

"I think it's wonderful that you've kept up a friendship with him," Chriscelia said.

"He became a bit of a father figure to me. I couldn't imagine life without him."

Chriscelia reached for his hand when Sarah returned with their orders. "I'm glad you have him, and I'm glad you've made progress with your dad. I know you need them right now."

"I do," Spencer affirmed.

"This smells good," Chriscelia said of the food on her plate.

"It does smell delicious."

He picked up his fork and knife and from the first bite realized that he was starving. Chriscelia watched him and thought about the next steps they had to take before their next sad duty, and said a little prayer to whoever might be listening, that she'd have the strength to see Spencer through the coming dark waters of grief.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n thank you all again for your patience and good wishes for my health. Unfortunately, the cold changed into allergies without a break. The good news is that I have medicine for allergies and feel better. Also, I must apologize for the delay with this chapter. I've had computer problems and writers block. I'm determined to have the next chapter out much sooner. Again, thank you for your patience and support._**

Spencer opened his eyes to grayness. The hotel room lay in the gloom that matched his mood. Today was the day. Today, he'd say goodbye to his mother. He blinked slowly in the low light of the stormy day that felt more appropriate for a memorial service, than golden sunlight and blue skies. He closed his eyes again and thought about more sleep, but Chriscelia moved against him. He shifted and looked down at her curled into his right side. Her blond hair, mussed from sleep lay over his upper chest and shoulder. He liked watching her sleep even though he couldn't see her lovely hazel eyes.

Chriscelia moved again and sighed deeply. Her eyes fluttered, then closed. He kissed the tip of her nose. She moaned softly, and one of her hands slid from his chest to his groin. He hissed, and something he'd thought buried beneath a flood of grief raged to the surface.

"Celia," he growled and kissed her full lips.

Her eyes fluttered again and stayed open, as he worked his way down her neck to the hollow of her throat.

"Spencer."

"Don't talk," he said hoarsely. "I need you. Please!"

His hands dipped into her sleep pants, and she arched off the bed. "Oh, God. Spencer."

"Love me," he whispered in her ear.

"Yes!"

She bucked and pushed him over on his back. "Relax, baby. Let me do the work this time."

She straddled him and at the same time, in one smooth motion that mesmerized him, pulled her tee shirt over her head and tossed it away. She looked down at him with eyes that saw the real _him_ , the true person that hid behind his everyday persona, that _him_ that lived with drug addiction, PTSD and the loss of too many people he loved. She saw his true soul and the darkness that lived in an uneasy alliance with the light, and she didn't turn away.

His hands took possession of her breasts. He loved the fullness of them, and how smooth the skin felt on his palms. She blew out an explosive breath and closed her eyes, but only for a moment. "Oh no," she gasped out, her eyes going dark in the low light of the storm. "I said I'd do the work."

Her head fell forward, and her mouth ravaged his lips until he opened them and let her tongue fill him. He couldn't breathe when she released him, and her mouth moved from him to his chin, then his neck. His hips arched when her hands returned to his waist and pulled down his sleep pants. He began to forget everything, the pain, the loss, and the hopeless certainty that he'd never feel right again.

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Chriscelia found him in the living area of their suite after she'd showered and dressed in lounge pants and a tee shirt. Over the last week, they'd fallen into a routine of sleeping late and eating even later, then going out to all the places Spencer remembered from his childhood. It was as though he were trying to recall every memory he ever had with his mother. It hurt her heart to see him sitting there in the gray light of this day, knowing it was the day he, at last, had to say his final goodbye.

"Hey," she greeted him with a kiss.

Spencer smiled at her, and it was a smile that resembled a little the man she'd seen that day in the airport. His eyes held pain, but not the terrible depression that had clouded them for days.

"You feeling better?"

"I am," he said quietly.

"Good."

Spencer pulled her to him and embraced her hard. "I'm sorry about this morning."

She pulled back and swept one hand through his wavy hair. " _Why_ are you apologizing?"

"I was a bit demanding. I barely let you wake before I –"

Spencer looked down at his hands. Chriscelia sighed and said. "Look at me, Spencer."

"I should have _talked_ to you." Spencer protested. "We haven't had sex since my mom died. I was just feeling –"

"Like you needed comfort," Chriscelia said. "I understand, baby."

Spencer's beautiful eyes searched her face, and she waited for him to make up his mind what to say next. "I did," he finally said. "I don't know what happened. I woke up, and I was watching you sleep, and I just… felt different." Spencer shook his head. "I don't know what is wrong with me."

"You _do_ know," Chriscelia argued. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're beginning to feel again, instead of going through the motions as you've done for the last week. You're not numb anymore, Spencer. That's a good thing."

He nodded and put his head on her shoulder. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it through the memorial service."

"You _will._ Your friends are here. I get to meet the famous Derek Morgan, remember."

He chuckled at the enthusiasm in her voice. "Yes… I remember. He's _very_ intrigued by you, too."

Chriscelia pushed him away. "What did you tell him?"

"Don't look at me like that. I didn't reveal anything untoward about you."

"I'm not sure I believe you. You're squeaking."

"I do _not_ squeak," Spencer said firmly.

"Whatever you say," Chriscelia responded loftily.

Spencer tried to hug her, but she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't try to kiss up to me," Chriscelia said and then laughed and kissed him firmly on the cheek. "Come on. It's getting late, and we are supposed to see Morgan, JJ, and Garcia before the memorial."

Spencer sighed and grabbed her hand. "I don't want to do this, Celia. I want to stay here with you and pretend everything is okay."

Chriscelia took his face in her hands. "Everything _isn't_ okay, Spencer, but it _will_ get better. I promise."

Spencer hung his head, then straightened his shoulders. "You're right, of course."

Chriscelia squeezed his hands tight. "I wish I weren't right. I wish none of this happened and that your mom had lived long enough for you to spend more time with her."

"I love you for saying that," Spencer let go and stood. "The problem is that I don't think I'd ever be ready for her death. Perhaps if I'd have the kind of mother other kids had, then it wouldn't be so difficult to say goodbye. Why did she have to suffer _so_ much, Chriscelia? I don't understand."

Chriscelia watched him walk back to their bedroom as his last question echoed in her ears. If only there were an answer for him that could take away his pain.

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The rain stopped by the time Morgan, JJ, and Garcia knocked on his hotel door. The sun had begun to peek out from hiding behind pewter clouds in a white sky.

"Hey," Morgan greeted him with a long embrace. "How are you?"

"I'm holding on," Spencer said when he let go of his brother. "Just barely, but I'm better than I would be without Chriscelia."

Spencer turned to see her greeting Garcia and JJ. "Chriscelia, this is Derek Morgan. Derek, this is Chriscelia Moore."

Derek ignored her outstretched hand and hugged her instead. "I'm glad to meet you. Thank you for taking care of my man."

"Ditto," said Garcia.

"Yes," JJ agreed. "Thank you."

"Should we sit?" Spencer offered. "Or do you guys want something to drink?"

"No thanks," Derek said, but he did sit on one of the two sofas in the room.

"We're good," Garcia said and JJ nodded in agreement.

JJ hugged Spencer tightly. "You sure you're okay," she said softly.

"I'm alright for now, but I'm not looking forward to the service."

"I know," she kissed his cheek. "You'll make it through, Spence. We're all here."

"Emily sends her love," Garcia said as they sat.

"The others finally got a lead on Mr. Scratch," JJ said.

"You should be with them," Spencer said, and agitation filled his face. "I don't want you to lose this opportunity."

"They'll be fine," JJ said.

"Yeah, Monty is on the computer stuff as well," Garcia added.

"Yes, but as good as he is, he's _not_ you," Spencer stated.

"Thank you, sweet cheeks, but even _I_ am not indispensable."

JJ reached over and squeezed his free hand. "Don't worry about Mr. Scratch or the team. Emily promised to call us if she needs us."

"Yeah, pretty boy," Morgan added. "you need your friends with you. Don't worry about work right now. It'll still be there when you get back."

Chriscelia feathered her fingers through Spencer's hair, and then rubbed circles on his back. His shoulders relaxed and his body language changed. He uncrossed his legs and arms and leaned into her touch. He didn't see JJ look over at Morgan, or the older man's eyebrows cock at Chriscelia's obvious talent for calming his brother.

"Alright, I'll leave it alone," Spencer said and sighed. "I'm so glad you guys are here."

"There's no place we'd rather be," Garcia said.

He took in her somber black suit that fit her curves like a glove. She wore a red Dahlia in her hair, scarlet lipstick and glasses with red frames. Her shoes polished to a high shine, matched the color of her dress.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," they all said together, and everyone laughed a little.

"So," Morgan said with a smart-ass grin. "Tell me about yourself, Chriscelia."

"Morgan," Spencer said wearily.

"It's okay," Chriscelia said. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to hear your version of how you met my man over there," he wagged a finger between the two of them."

"I'll make you a deal," Chriscelia said as Spencer rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'll tell you about how we met, and you tell me something the others don't know about you."

"She's got you there, Chocolate Thunder," Garica quipped, and JJ smirked.

"Chocolate Thunder," Chriscelia said. "Hm… I can use that."

Spencer grinned at her. "Yeah, I think that's an inspired idea."

"Use it for _what_ ," Morgan demanded as JJ and Garcia held in their laughter.

"Uh, no," Chiscelia shook her head. "You said you wanted to hear my version how we met and that's what you're going to hear."

Later, after Chriscelia told her story, the mood became somber again as Reid pulled on his suit jacket, while the others waited in the living area.

"I'm not sure I can't do this," he said as he watched Chriscelia put on her shoes.

Chriscelia adjusted his tie, and kissed him. "You _can_ do this, Spencer Reid. I _believe_ in you. Your friends are here, and I'm not going anywhere, but besides all the people that love you, there is something else you have."

"What?"

"You have your mother's love." Chriscelia laid her hand over his heart and felt it beating, a little too fast, but that was normal, she supposed. "She's here with you, in your heart. She'll never leave you."

"How do you know?"

His raspy whisper and the tears that collected in his amazing eyes broke her heart once more. "I know because your mother loved you so much, baby. That kind of love doesn't just disappear because she's no longer of this world. It _stays_ with you."

"I hope you're right."

Chriscelia wiped away a tear from his cheek. "Just take it one breath at a time and hold onto me."

He clasped her hand and pulled her in for a lingering kiss. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Spencer. I love you."

"I love you too."

They left the bedroom to join their friends. Morgan, JJ, and Garcia stood as if they waited for something more important than anything previous and they smiled. Soon he was surrounded by their familiar presence that covered him like warm water. Chriscelia smiled at him. JJ and Garcia hugged him. Morgan slapped his shoulder, then hugged him tightly. "We will get you through this, Spencer."

"I know."

Spencer met their eyes, in turn, and saw only compassion and sorrow for him. He wished he could stop time at that moment and forever put off this next step, but it was a fool's dream.

"It's time," he said and followed his friends out into the now sunlit day beyond the safety of his hotel room.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n thank you all again for your kind words. Thanks for waiting patiently for this update. I had a lot of trouble deciding on the memorial and what Spencer would say about his mother. Thanks again to my wonderful beta. As always she keeps me on track and error free. Please enjoy!_**

Spencer squeezed Chriscelia's hand after parking their rental vehicle. The parking garage at the lowest level of Hoover Dam Visitor's Center contained several other cars, but he didn't see any people. He looked over at Chriscelia, and she smiled at him.

"Let's go."

They found William Reid just outside the elevators on the top floor of the three-level building that seemed to grow out of the side of the hill.

"Hello, son."

Spencer and his dad hugged briefly. Chriscelia embraced Spencer's dad, and they turned down the hallway and past windows that looked out over the dam, and Lake Mead. Chriscelia could just see the bypass highway and water cascading down the spillways to the mighty Colorado River below. The sunlight of the late afternoon sun glinted off the water and danced like water sprites in the wind.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

Spencer turned his head, and she noticed he smiled a little and her heart lifted. "It is amazing," he said and squeezed her hand.

The conference room they'd procured for the memorial service, did not look like a funeral parlor which made Spencer sigh in relief. The colors were muted beige and tans instead of heavy on the red. As they entered the room, he saw that his father had arranged for a guest book on a table. He stopped in front of a photograph of his mother, young, with long wavy blond hair, bright eyes, and a happy smile.

"I took that about a month after we met. I already knew I found the one I wanted to marry. She wasn't so easily convinced."

Spencer smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek. "She was extremely stubborn," he agreed.

"Now we know where you got it, pretty boy," Morgan quipped.

"Hush," Garcia said and slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"What a drive," JJ commented. "I'm glad you picked the dam for the memorial. It's beautiful, Spence."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's extremely pleasing to the eye."

A plump woman with ash blond hair and piercing blue eyes entered the conference room. She looked around and headed straight for William Reid.

"You've some nerve coming here, _Mr._ Reid."

"Aunt Ethel," Spencer interrupted. "Please don't make a scene."

The older woman, who resembled Diana, glared at William with eyes that sparked like the sun on water.

"I don't want him here," she said as he tried to guide her into a corner of the room. "He never really cared about her."

"Aunt Ethel, _please_ …" Tears stung Spencer's grief reddened cheeks.

Her face softened. "I'm sorry, dear boy," she said softly as some of the arriving guests stared at her with disapproving eyes. "I can't believe Diana's gone. I miss her so much."

"Me too. I'm glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, Spencer. How are you?"

"I'm all right."

"I see you still need a haircut."

He smiled at her. "Yeah, I never seem to get around to it."

Ethel looked around to the windows that showed the spectacular view of the dam and Lake Mead. "I'm surprised we're here. I'll bet this was your idea, William," she said coldly to Reid's father. "What's the matter, lawyer work doesn't pay enough to afford a proper setting for my only sister's memorial?"

"Aunt Ethel," Spencer began.

"No," William said. "I can speak for myself, son. If you must know," He turned his eyes on his sister-in-law, "Diana specified in her will that she wanted the service at Lake Mead. She had good memories of both of us here."

"What kind of memories, William. It's a Dam!"

"If you'll keep your voice down, I will explain."

William's eyes flashed with anger, and Spencer was about to step between them when his aunt nodded her head. "All right, tell me."

"We used to come up here when we were dating. She liked to watch the sunset on the lake. Of course, this was before 9/11 and the extra security. You could stop on the dam then and look out over the lake or down to the Colorado River. I proposed to her here, and she brought me here to tell me that she was pregnant with Spencer."

Ethel swallowed hard, and her voice quavered as she spoke quietly. "I am sorry," she said. "I had no idea."

"You didn't know your sister like you thought you did."

"Dad!"

"I am sorry. This is about Diana. I'm going to greet some of her friends if you don't mind." William said.

"He's still as rude and stubborn as I remember. I can't believe you let him come here."

Spencer sighed. "Not that it's any of _your_ business, but dad and I have worked things out. I understand more that you know what happened to their marriage."

"Spencer, I don't think you realize –"

"I know _exactly_ ," Spencer said, struggling to keep his voice down. "As my mother said, "What's done is done. Please don't ruin this gathering."

Tears gathered in Ethel's eyes. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I loved her so much. I just want what she wants."

"This is what she wanted, Aunt Ehtel. Please believe that and let's think about all the good things, instead of the bad."

She hugged him. "You're not only smart but wise, dear one."

He let out the breath he'd held. "I'm not sure about that, but thank you."

Ethel wiped her eyes. "Now, I saw you here with several people I've never met. If I haven't scared them all away, I'd like a chance to meet them and give a better second impression."

He smiled and led her to his friends. "This is Chriscelia, my girlfriend. Chriscelia, this is my outspoken Aunt Ethel."

"I deserve that," Ethel said and took Chriscelia's offered hand. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You too," Chriscelia said.

"This is Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and Derek Morgan. Derek used to be an agent on my team. JJ is an agent and Penelope is our multi-talented technical analyst. They're my best friends."

He beamed with pride which made Ethel's eyebrows go up. "I'm glad to meet such fine people. If you've impressed Spencer, you must be a special group."

"They are," Spencer said.

"Glad to meet you, ma'am." Morgan shook her hand.

"Yes, it's nice to meet more of Spence's family."

"Hello, ma'am," Garcia greeted not sure what to make of her.

Another woman approached the group. "Spencer, is that you?"

He looked at her and tried to place her in his memory. She was tiny, about five feet tall with dark hair and eyes and a slim figure. "I'm sorry I don't know you," he admitted.

"Don't worry. The last time I saw you was when you were six. Your mother brought you to the University one day. I was so impressed with you. You were quiet and gentle and so smart. You stayed in her office reading for most of the day without supervision."

He studied her as she spoke and something click. "Professor Madeline Straub. You taught Psychology. I remember meeting you. You gave me peppermint candy when mom wasn't looking."

She laughed, "Yes, that was me. I wanted to come and say good-bye. Your mother was a good friend. I was devastated when she had to be committed."

"Me, too."

"She was so lucky to have a son like you, Spencer. She loved you so much."

He nodded and swallowed over the lump in his throat. He introduced his friends, and after a minute, Professor Straub excused herself and went to speak to other friends and mourners in the room.

Spencer looked down when someone squeezed his hand. "You okay?" Chriscelia asked.

"Yeah. I'm hanging in there, as they say."

After an hour of greeting mourners, the memorial service began. Spencer stood in front of the group who taken seats arranged in two rectangle blocks in the middle of the large room. He counted about one hundred and fifty people, and it lifted his heart to see so many there to honor his mother. He looked over at Chriscelia who sat on the front row next to JJ and Garcia, with his dad and Morgan taking up the rest of the row.

"Hello," he managed to begin without squeaking. "Welcome. I want to thank all of you for coming out today. I assume you're wondering why we're gathered at the Hoover Dam Visitor's Center."

He looked down at his dad and saw his reassuring smile. William nodded almost imperceptibly.

"This was a favorite place for my mother and father. They have many special memories here. She requested that we gather here to say goodbye.

He paused for a moment. His eyes found Chriscelia, and she smiled at him. The warmth of her eyes made his spine tingle, and he felt his body relax.

"I thought long about what to say about my mother. I'm given to understand that a eulogy is something people use to try and sum up a person's life. I'm not sure I can do that in a few minutes so, I won't try. Instead, I want to share some of my memories of her that are strongest in my mind."

"She took me to the park when I was a child. She allowed me to play chess with anyone willing to indulge a five-year-old boy. Her endless patience when I'd play for hours astounds me as an adult. When I'd finally tire of the games, she'd spread out a picnic for us, usually tuna or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then she'd push me on the swing, as high as I wanted, so I could feel the breeze on my face and see the world from another perspective."

Spencer cleared his throat when tears threatened to overtake him. He looked down at Chriscelia, and she smiled. She raised her hand to the bridge of her nose and let her fingers slide down the length. It was a signal they'd agreed on to let him know he wasn't blowing it.

"You all know that my mother spent most of her life, fighting Schizophrenia. To some people, a diagnosis of such magnitude would break them. My mother never broke. She fought against the voices every day. She didn't always succeed, but she never quit. She taught me patience and endurance every time she survived another day."

"She passed her love of reading to me. She read to me every day, even though I could read at the college level by the time I was five. She introduced me to other worlds that could exist in my imagination. I believe that books were an escape for her, a way for her to leave her reality behind for a few precious moments."

He paused again and this time, he met JJ's eyes. Her cobalt blue eyes were full of tears, but she smiled at him and nodded.

"My mother had a sense of humor that often caused her trouble. She was direct, someone who spoke her mind always. Once, after a difficult case right here in Nevada, I went to visit her. She was in the middle of dinner, and I walked up with Dr. Norman. I told her that he gave me permission to sleep on her couch that night if that was all right with her. She looked him right in the eye and said. "If anyone tries to keep him here, I'll scratch their eyes out." I didn't expect that, and Dr. Norman was a bit taken aback I think. He said. "One night only," and left. My mom said. "It helps if they think you're crazy, they don't argue."

The laughter of the kind you'd hear at solemn occasions broke out in the room. Spencer found Derek's eyes. His friend grinned and gave him a thumb up.

"Diana Reid always said that mothers know things, that they're animals. I hope that's true. I never believed in an afterlife, until some experiences at the FBI began to make me question my beliefs. I hope there is an afterlife, Mom. I hope you continue to know things, and I hope I'll always make you proud. I love you."

He returned to his seat. Garcia reached for his hand when he passed her. He looked down and smiled at his colorful friend. "I love you," she mouthed.

Chriscelia took his hand as soon as he sat and squeezed it tight. "That was lovely," she said quietly.

He nodded but didn't speak as his father stood and introduced the DVD Garcia had put together for the memorial. It was a collection of old photos, set to his mother's favorite music. Spencer watched and listened to classical mixed with a bit of Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin.

"Nice job, Baby Girl," Morgan reached over and squeezed her shoulder when it was over.

"Yes, thank you."

"You're welcome, sweet cheeks."

The service ended with his Aunt Ethel speaking briefly about her sister, and then some of her friends and peers from school shared their thoughts. He couldn't believe how many people remembered her and told stories he'd never heard that reinforced his opinion that his mother was stubborn, intelligent, loving and funny.

After the service and after everyone had left except for his friends, Chriscelia, and his dad, a man approached them.

He was tall with silver hair, a mustache, and gray eyes looking out from hooded lids. He wore a gray suit with a white shirt, a blue tie with silver dots and shoes shined to a mirror gleam. He held out his hand to William. "Hello, Billy."

Something entered William's eyes that set a tingle up Spencer's back. He looked from his father to the man and noted that the stranger's shoulders were set back and his hands hung straight at his sides. His mouth was tight and his eyes dark and full of what seemed to Spencer like resentment.

"Hello, Stevie. It's been awhile."

"Forty years, to be exact, Billy.

William leaned in. "Please don't make a scene, Steven."

"I have _no_ intention," said Steven.

"This is my son, Spencer. Spencer this is an old friend of mine, Steven Whitfield."

"It's nice to meet you."

"Your father doesn't introduce me correctly. I was an old friend of your mother _and_ your father."

"Steven."

"I'm here because of Dianna. I will hold my tongue. It's nice to meet you, Spencer. Billy, we'll speak later."

Steven signed the guest book and walked away. "Dad," Spencer began, but his father shook his head. "I'll tell you about it later. For now, it's time for us to go to the second half of the gathering."

 _ **A/n during my research into the Hoover Dam, I did find that people get married there, but I don't know about funerals. Also, you have to book at least four weeks in advance, so it might be difficult to have a memorial there. I thank you all for your patience with my creative license.**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_'sDisclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, nor any character or product name mentioned in this story, except for my own characters. This story is not meant for profit, only fun. I promise to put them back in the same condition as I found them._**

Chriscelia rounded the corner of the hallway leading from the ladies' room to the bank of windows that covered the northwest facing wall of the Hoover Dam Visitors Center. Spencer stood in front of them; his eyes fixed on the huge concrete and steel dam that created Lake Mead. The sun, nearly below the horizon, added brilliant golden light to the cobalt blue of the sky. Orange and red flared at the edges of white clouds as the day said goodbye to the world and welcomed the night as if it were a long-awaited lover come home from a hard-fought war.

"Hey," she said softly and wrapped one arm around his waist.

He folded into her embrace and kissed the top of her head. "Hey," he greeted.

"You okay, babe?"

"Yeah – um, no, I'm not, but I will be with you here."

She hugged him tightly. "You're stuck with me, big fella."

He laughed, despite tears in his eyes. "Thank you."

Chriscelia drew back, pushed his bangs out of his eyes and studied him. "You're welcome, but for what?"

"For agreeing to stay here until sunset. I just couldn't leave after the service."

"Where else would I go? Take all the time you need, Spencer."

He turned his eyes to the dam and the shimmering waters of Lake Mead. _Is this what his parents saw when they visited this place so long ago?_

"I think I understand why my mother loved this place."

"I think it's beautiful here." Chriscelia agreed. "The sunlight on the water, like diamonds, is gorgeous. I feel like I could dive into the lake and find some mystical place where mermaids are real and…" She stopped and flushed red. "I'm sorry… I guess the writer in me can't shut up."

Spencer took her face in his hands. "I was thinking the same thing."

Chriscelia's eyebrows lifted. "You were thinking about mermaids?"

" _No,_ " he said and grinned at her. "I only meant there's something special about this place."

They stood watching the lake until the sun had completely disappeared over the horizon. "I'm ready," Spencer said and adjusted his sunglasses.

Chriscelia squeezed his hand. "Let's go."

CMCMCMCM

Chriscelia opened her eyes to bright, desert sunlight from the south-facing window of their hotel suite. She lifted her head from Spencer's chest and blinked slowly to get her bearings. Her legs tangled with his and his arms held her tight, even in sleep as though he were afraid she'd disappear in the night. She kissed the corner of his mouth, and he sighed. His eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled down at him.

"Good morning, babe."

"Good morning, Celia."

She cupped a hand to his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he swallowed and attempted to sit up. "I feel like I'm still half-sleeping. What time is it?"

She turned and grabbed her phone. "A little after 8 a.m."

He groaned and slipped away from her. He stood, grabbed his robe, and covered his naked body. "Hm," Chriscelia pouted. " _Why_ did you have to ruin my view."

He turned back to her. "Don't even think about it. I'm going to the bathroom; then I intend to sleep for a couple of hours."

Chriscelia let the sheets fall away from her chest, giving him a full view of her breasts. "You sure you want to do that?"

"Don't tempt me, woman. You wore me out last night."

" _Me_ ," she said indignantly, "You're the one that grabbed me the minute we walked in the door."

"I didn't hear any complaints."

"No, because you have magic hands and an amazing mouth."

"Don't start," he warned her.

He left for the bathroom. She narrowed her eyes at the closed door between them, then lay down and pulled the sheets back around her naked limbs. If he wanted to sleep, then she'd sleep too.

A minute later, she heard the toilet flush, then water running in the sink. The door opened, and then the weight of his body joined her. She kept her eyes closed even when he slid up flush to her back, and one of his hands found a breast. She tried to pretend she slept, but his talented fingers teased a moan from her.

"I thought I wore you out," she said breathlessly and turned to face him in the light of morning.

"I have my second wind."

Two hours later, Spencer sat on their couch wearing an old pair of blue sweat pants with a faded purple tee-shirt and his trademark mismatched socks. Chriscelia, fresh from the shower, also wore sweat pants and a tee-shirt with white socks and her hair in a ponytail, with her face free of make-up. She sat next to him on the couch and lay her head on his right shoulder.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How are you?"

He turned, and she sat up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Why?"

"Last night. We had a great dinner with Dad, JJ, Garcia, and Morgan. We all laughed and talked. Then, we came back here, and it was…" He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Sweetheart," Chriscelia stroked a hand over his cheek.

"I was so relieved. All I wanted was to be in your arms and - how could I be so happy that the memorial was over and all I have left are her ashes?"

He curled into her arms and began to sob like a child. She held him tight and fought back the sympathetic tears that threatened to overflow. She rocked him in her arms until he lifted his head and wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, babe. Normality is going to take time, you know."

"I do know; it's just that I feel like she's gone on a trip somewhere and that she'll be back. Even after yesterday, I'm still in denial, and that frightens me."

"Why?"

"I know denial is the first step in the grieving process. I know it's perfectly normal to feel this why but it frightens me."

"Why are you so hard on yourself? You and your mother were extremely close, Spencer. It's going to take time for you to process and adjust. You don't have to feel normal, whatever that is because you think everyone expects you to feel better within a given time-frame. Give yourself a break, okay?"

He nodded. "I understand what you're saying, but I want to feel right. Now! I don't want to go through the steps of grief."

"You can't, babe skip over the process of grief. Believe me; I know that for a fact."

He met her eyes and his heart thudded in his chest. "I'm so selfish," he whispered.

"No. You're not selfish, my love. You're the most unselfish man I've ever met."

"I am selfish," he argued. "I still have my dad. You lost both your parents, one quite recently and here I am – "

"Stop," she held up a hand. "My parents _are_ gone, but I don't corner the market on grief."

He hung his head. "I'm saying everything wrong."

"No, you're _not_ ," she argued. "You're honest. I love that about you, Spencer Reid."

He raised his head, and the sorrow in his lovely eyes tore at her heart. "I love you more than you'll ever know, Celia. I can't imagine never meeting you.

She smiled at him and clasped his trembling hand to her heart. "I thank God you ran into me on that airport concourse."

He hugged her again, and they sat for long moments just holding each other. He finally pulled away. "Are you up for a treat," he said.

She blinked at the sudden change in his mood. "Ah, sure."

"Put on your shoes," he ordered happily. "I'm taking you to another of mom's favorite places."

CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM

"Wow," Chriscelia exclaimed as they parked across the street from a small store front. The sign read "Luv-It."

"What is this place?" She wondered as they joined the line that stretched halfway down the block.

"It's the best-frozen custard in the world," Reid enthused. "It was my mother's favorite guilty pleasure."

"And yours," Chriscelia interpreted.

"Yes."

"You must be right because I've never seen a line like this for ice cream."

"It's take-out only," Spencer explained. "There's a line like this every day. If you're extremely lucky, you might see a celebrity or two."

"Seriously!"

Spencer grinned at her and squeezed her hand. "Yep. I've seen Craig Ferguson and Matthew Gray Gubler."

"Oh, my God, Matthew Gray Gubler's so hot," Chriscelia enthused.

Reid's left eyebrow climbed into his bangs. "Am I to understand that you have a crush on him?"

Chriscelia smirked as the line moved forward a few steps. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Should I be," Spencer wondered with a pout.

Chriscelia smacked his shoulder. "No!"

"Are you certain, because he's famous, and a model to boot?"

"Spencer Reid, I love you. Matthew Gray Gubler is a fantasy; you're real."

He wrapped an arm around her and tugged her close. "Love you too."

"Now, if we were to run into Chris Hemsworth…"

"Not funny," Spencer said and laughed.

Twenty minutes later, they sat in the rental car with their frozen custard selections and the windows down for a breeze. Chriscelia scooped up her chocolate sundae and sighed. "I didn't think I was going to like this, but it's amazing."

"Yeah," Reid said and took a bite of his strawberry cone.

"You okay?"

He turned to her, and although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, the sorrow had retreated a little. "I was just thinking about the last time mom and I came here for a cone. I was seventeen. It was one of her good days. She wanted to sleep all the time; it was a side effect of her medications in those days. I remember that morning; she was up early. She bathed on her own and was making breakfast when I came downstairs. I was amazed to see pancakes, something she hadn't attempted in years. They were half burned," he recalled with a small smile. "I didn't care because she made them."

Chriscelia took another bite of her treat and smiled. "I'm glad for you, babe."

"We went to the park, something we hadn't done together since I'd gone to college. We walked around, and even though she said she didn't mind, I didn't play chess that day. I wanted to spend all my time with her. Then, we came down here and got cones. I had to commit her to Bennington six months later, so it was our last happy day.

"It sounds like a wonderful day."

"It was."

They finished their sweet concoctions while Reid told her more about the good memories he had of his mother and this amazing frozen custard stand.

"Seriously, she said that," Chriscelia remarked in disbelief as Spencer polished off his cone and wiped his hands on a napkin.

"Yes. She had a sharp tongue and a quick wit. It got her into trouble several times."

Chriscelia laughed. "I wish I could've been there to see his face."

Spencer reached over and took her free hand. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but you remind me of mom a bit in your sense of humor."

"Why would I take it the wrong way, Spencer? I'm flattered."

"I'm happy because that's how I meant it."

He started the engine of the car. "Shall we get back to the hotel?"

Chriscelia looked at her watch. "Are you sure you want to meet up with Morgan, Garcia, and JJ? We could call them if you want to hang out at home."

"No, I want to see them. I think getting out of that hotel room for the evening is essential to my emotional healing."

"It doesn't hurt that it's a magic show," Chriscelia teased.

"You can't come to Vegas and not see Criss Angel at the Luxor."

"You're right about that, he's amazing."

"Then, let's get back to the hotel. We're going to be late if we don't hurry."

"Lead on," Chriscelia gestured to the road. "It's time for magic."

 ** _A/n If you want to know more about Luv-it, you can find it on the web. Also, it is one of MGG's favorite places. There is a You Tube video of his appearance on Craig Ferguson's talk show. They both mention Luv-it. I hope you enjoy my tongue in cheek meta reference to MGG. I couldn't resist it!_**


	17. Chapter 17

"I hope you don't mind my dropping by," William asked as Spencer shut the door to their hotel suite.

"Of course not, Dad. We're relaxing before we leave in the morning."

"It's good to see you, William." Chriscelia greeted him with a smile and a hug. "Please sit."

William took one of the chairs, while Spencer perched on the sofa with Chriscelia at his side and said. "How've you been, Spencer?"

Reid sighed and glanced at Chriscelia. "Every minute's different. I keep thinking I need to write my daily letter to her. In fact, I sat down an hour ago, took out some paper and a pen and got as far as, "Dear Mom," when I realized she was gone."

"Son, I'm no psychologist like you, and you _certainly_ don't need me to tell you what to do, but maybe you should write one last letter to your mother. Tell her everything that's in your heart."

"What do you think?" Chriscelia asked as she gently scratched Spencer's back.

Spencer looked at her, then turned his eyes to his father. "Maybe you're a better profiler than me," he said with a mournful smile.

William's lips turned up a bit. "I wouldn't go that far, son. Perhaps you need someone else to say what you're thinking in your heart.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

William studied his son for a minute. "Spencer, I'd like to make a confession."

Spencer's eyebrows went up. "What is it?"

"The last time I visited your mother, she showed me a couple of your letters."

"She did?"

"Yes, she said she wanted me to read what you'd written to her because she was _so_ proud of you, Spencer."

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. I'm sorry if her sharing them with me upsets you. I never meant –"

"It's okay, Dad," Spencer interrupted. "I'm glad she felt close enough to you to share her letters. After all, they're hers to do with what she will."

William's eyes crinkled up with his grin. "That's true."

Reid turned back to Chriscelia. "I think I'll write that letter and I want you to read it when it's finished.

"I'd be honored."

"I want you to see it too, Dad."

William sat forward in his chair. "I'd love to, but only if you're comfortable with it."

Spencer simply nodded once. "What about you? How are you?"

William shook his head and his eyes, Spencer's eyes, gleamed. "I'm all right, but I miss Dianna more than I can explain. I know what you're thinking," he said to Reid. "This is my punishment for leaving her alone with you to cope. You're right?"

"I didn't think that, Dad. I know you have regrets, and so do I, but there's no reason to go back over the same ground we've covered. If mom's death has taught me anything, it's that I want to go forward. It's what she would say if she were here, what's done is done."

"Thank you, Spencer. I hope you and I can make her proud."

"If she's half as proud of us as I was to be her son, then I say we've met our goal."

"Yes," William said and subsided into a long silence.

"Dad," Spencer began. "I know you came here to say something. _What_ is it?"

William pursed his lips together and shook his head again. "I couldn't fool you as a child, and I can't fool you now. You remember, Steven, the stranger at your mother's memorial?"

"You seemed to know him," Spencer probed.

"Yes, I did. It's been years since I've seen or spoken to Steven. He was my best friend from childhood until college."

"Oh," Spencer said. "You've never mentioned him."

William sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. "We had a falling out. You see, I met Dianna through Steven. You remember I told you that the first time I saw her, I knew she was the one for me."

"Yes."

"She was dating Steven at the time. He'd told me about her, claimed to be in love with her, the kind of love the poets write about, but I knew better. Spencer, I loved him like a brother, but he had serious faults. He came from old money and in many ways believed that the world should bow to all his whims. He thought that if he wanted something or someone, so be it. He's what I believe you call a narcissist."

Spencer shifted on the sofa and took Chriscelia's hand. " _What_ did he do to mom?"

"Nothing criminal, son. His only crime was that he didn't believe in fidelity. While he dated Dianna, he had three other women at his disposal. Dianna didn't know or refused to see it until I showed her proof. Your mother and I were just friends at the time, but it killed me to see how he treated her, despite his claims to love her."

"Did mom love him?"

William's eyes clouded. "Yes, but when she found out about his cheating, she broke it off and told him she never wanted to see him again. Of course, he found out I'd told her, and he was furious. In Steven's world, the loyalty of a friend was paramount, even if he didn't extend the same courtesy. We fought, literally, and he came out the worst for it. The campus police weren't pleased, but as the fight had ended by the time they came to break us up, they couldn't do much. We got a lecture from the Dean, and that was that. I never talked to Stephen again until yesterday. It floored me when he walked through the door. I still don't believe he was there out of respect to Dianna, but to watch me suffer."

"A rampant narcissist enjoys power over others," Spencer said, then flushed. "Sorry, I just realized I sound like I'm at work."

"It's okay, Spencer. You're right about Steven. I can't imagine now, why we stayed friends for so long."

"Sometimes we're blind to the faults of others until they make us understand something clearly at last."

"When I think about now, I realize that I hurt your mother more than I ever knew. Stephen cheated on her, and I left her, not for another woman, but because I couldn't cope."

"Dad –"

"No," William held up a hand. "I have to live with it. As you said, we must move forward. Let's agree to that and take it one day at a time."

Spencer nodded and let go of Chriscelia's hand as William got to his feet. "I'm glad you told me about Steven, Dad."

"Me too." William turned to Chriscelia. "I am sorry for more drama. Thank you for your kindness to my son. I can see how much he loves you."

"Don't apologize, William. I'm here in whatever capacity I can for Spencer. I love him very much, and I'm glad we had the chance to spend time with you, even in such unhappy moments."

"Thank you, my dear."

Spencer hugged his dad. "I promise I'll visit with you again soon."

"I'd like that."

After William had left, Spencer returned to the sofa. Chriscelia curled up next to him. They sat without speaking for a few minutes. "Quite a story," Chriscelia said softly.

"Yeah… It's strange to think of my mom dating someone before Dad, although I know she must've had other dates or boyfriends."

"I'm glad she married your dad," Chriscelia said and kissed his cheek.

"Why?"

"Because they gave you to the world. If you mother had married Steven, maybe they might've had kids, but none of them would be the exceptional man that is you, Spencer Reid."

He lay his head on her shoulder. "I'm not sure what to say to that except thank you."

"You're welcome."

He stayed still for a few blissful moment, then stood. "I'm going to write that letter to my mom."

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Spencer took his notebook from the inner pocket of his messenger bag. He stared at the cover for minutes that stretched by like a summer day in the Mojave Desert. He opened it and found the page that read "Dear Mom," and nothing else.

Spencer let his hand drift to the line below his usual greeting. Chriscelia once told him the most difficult thing about writing was getting started. She said that once she wrote the first sentence of the first paragraph, the words began to spool out of her like a thread from a sewing machine bobbin.

Spencer glanced around at Chriscelia who sat some distance away on the sofa with one of her beloved crossword puzzle books. He knew she pretended not to be interested in his struggle to write his thoughts and he loved her for it.

Finally, he wrote, _one day, five hours and twelve minutes have passed since we held your memorial service. I miss you so much; I can barely breathe. I keep thinking that I should visit you at Bennington, but of course, you're not there. I can't believe you're gone, mom. I thought we'd have much more time together._

 _I suppose you're wondering why I'm writing a letter when your ashes reside in an urn dad and I picked for you. I know what you'd say if you could see it. You'd scold me for spending so much on something that holds the remains of an empty shell. Well, mom, I supposed you're right, but it's what I needed to do._

 _I know what you're thinking. Get to the point, Spencer. You always spoke your mind. I never told you how much I admired that about you. You never let anyone push you around; you stood up for yourself even when your mind turned on you. Thank you for showing me how to speak for myself._

 _I never told you about a time when I was exposed to anthrax and thought I might die. I asked one of my best friends, Garcia, to make a recording for you. You never had to listen to it, and for that I'm grateful. I'm happier than you know that I never caused you such pain, although my teammates would say it's not for lack of trying. The recording said that I Iove you and that I'd spent every day, proud to be your son. I still feel that way, mom._

 _I want you to know that Dad and I are working through our problems. We're trying to remember what you once said, "What's done is done." I hope that wherever you are, you know it and are happy for it. Dad still loves you, mom. I believe he always will, and for that, I can forgive him._

 _Thank you for my life, mom. Thank you for giving me your love of reading. Thank you for every minute of every day that you gave of yourself for me. Thank you for loving me._

 _Always,_

 _Spencer._

Reid pulled the letter from his notebook and read it over. He looked again at Chriscelia, engrossed in her crossword puzzles, and stood. He went to her and smiled when she looked up at him expectantly.

"I'm finished."

Her lovely hazel eyes met his gaze, and she nodded. "You okay."

"Yeah. I want you to read this." He held out the notebook paper to her.

"You sure, babe."

"Yes, I'm sure."

Chriscelia took the pages and read, while Spencer sat and watched her with his hands clenched together in his lap.

"It's beautiful," Chriscelia choked. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're quite the writer, Spencer Reid."

"A fine compliment coming from you."

Chriscelia pulled him into her arms. "I know how hard that was for you."

He shook his head. "I thought it would be difficult, but my dad was right. It was cathartic. I know that if there is life after this, my mother is happy. She's free of her challenges, and she's probably causing quite a stir in Heaven if that's where we go."

They both laughed together, and it was like something broke off and a weight lifted from Spencer. He pulled away from Chriscelia and rose to his feet. He reached out a hand and lifted her to her feet. "What do you say we take a long walk down the strip. It's getting dark, and I think you'll enjoy all the lights and the people."

"I think a walk sounds like an _excellent_ idea."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

Reid dropped his messenger bag and his suitcase on the floor near his door. Instead of going directly to his bedroom to unpack, he went to his sofa. He dropped down and lay with his legs crossed and his head on a throw pillow. "I'm exhausted," he yawned.

"Me too," Chriscelia said from the direction of his tiny, corner kitchen.

A few minutes later she returned with two cups of tea. "Where's my coffee?" Spencer demanded in dismay.

"It's eight pm, and we're both jets lagged. If you drink that much caffeine, you won't sleep tonight."

He tried to pout, but Chriscelia smirked at him. "I know you like the caramel tea, babe. _Don't_ pretend you don't," she teased.

He sighed, sipped at the hot tea, and shook his head. "I don't _wan_ t to like it. "

"I know, my love."

He chuckled a bit. "I adore you."

"I'm glad, because I adore you, too."

Spencer put aside his cup of tea, sat up and slipped an arm around her shoulders. He tugged her close and closed his eyes. Chriscelia lay her head on his shoulder and tucked her legs up on the sofa. She sipped more peppermint tea and blew out a breath. "You okay?"

"Surprisingly, I'm feeling fairly normal." He stroked his hand up and down the outside of her arm and kissed the top of her head. "I have you to thank for it."

" _No_ , you did it on your own," Chriscelia argued. "You're stronger than you realize, Spencer."

"I don't feel exceptionally strong."

"Sometimes we need someone else to tell us when we exceed expectations," she reminded him.

He smiled and tugged lightly at the ends of her hair. "You exceed _my_ expectations, Ms. Moore. I love you."

Chriscelia looked up into his chocolate eyes. "I love you, too."

She raked her fingers through his wavy hair. "You need sleep, babe."

"So, do you."

"I _hate_ jet lag," she said and yawned until her jaws cracked.

Reid stood, held out his hand to Chriscelia and drew her to her feet. "I know you probably want to sleep in your own bed, but I'd like for you to stay here."

"You don't have to ask. Let's go to bed."

He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "To _sleep_ , dear Spencer, only to sleep."

He pouted, and she tugged on his hand. "Come on, lover boy. We'll get some sleep, have a good breakfast in the morning, and then we'll see from there."

Reid pretended to sigh, "If you insist."

" _I_ insist."

He let her lead him to his bedroom because he felt like his head floated somewhere above his shoulders. Sleep called to him like the wind soughing across the desert. Perhaps, sleeping in his own bed would change the tone of his dreams, and he'd find his way back to waking with a smile.

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Reid opened his eyes to sunlight and an empty bed. He looked around for Chriscelia, but she wasn't in the room. He sat up, yawned hugely, scratched the left side of his head, and swung his legs to the floor. He made his way to the living area and found Chriscelia sitting on the couch hugging a pillow to her chest. He could see tears on her cheeks, and his heart stuttered.

"Hey," he went to her and tried to pull her into his arms, but she slid away from him and stood. "What's wrong?"

She hastily wiped her cheeks and went to his chess set. She began picking up pieces at random and turning them over as if trying to figure their worth. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"Why're you apologizing?"

"It's nothing. Why don't I make coffee? I can see your eyelids drooping," she kidded, with more tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Coffee can wait," he gently steered her to the sofa. "Tell me what's wrong."

Chriscelia sat with her hands in her lap. She refused to make eye contact. Instead, she studied the floor. "I don't know what to say," she whispered. "I'm selfish."

Spencer reached for her chin and lifted her eyes. "Hey, what brought this on, you're the least selfish person I know."

"You must not know me very well." She laughed, weakly.

"I know you as well as I need to, enough to know you need to talk."

"It can wait, Spencer. I'll make some coffee and– "

She tried to rise, but Spencer gripped her forearm. "Celia, please talk to me."

"It's nothing."

"It's something, or you wouldn't be trying to put distance between us. Is it something I did?"

Her eyebrows went into her bangs and color rushed into her face. "You didn't do anything! You're the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man in the world."

"Then, talk to me."

"It's my birthday and – "

"Your birthday!" Spencer squeaked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's not that important, not compared to you and losing your mom."

Spencer turned her to face him. He pinned her with his eyes as he spoke. "It's not unimportant, Celia. It's your birthday. I'm sorry I didn't ask or – "

"No! Don't you _dare_ blame yourself, Spencer Reid." Chriscelia insisted. "I didn't want to bring it up because I knew you'd react this way. You lost your mother, and you should be dealing with that, not my birthday."

"Celia…"

She pushed her finger against his lips. "I'm not so self-absorbed, that I'd cry over a birthday. There's more to it than that," she sagged against the couch as if the weight of the world perched on her shoulders. "My mom and I used to make a big deal of birthdays. We'd spend the day together, go shopping or to a movie, and to lunch. She'd always buy me a new book to read, or if she couldn't decide, a gift certificate from Barnes and Noble. I loved spending time with her."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Chriscelia."

She wiped away more tears spilling over her lashes. "Sometimes I can't believe it's been two years since she died, and other times, it's like it's been forever."

Spencer enfolded her into his arms. "You were extremely close to her, Celia. Losing that kind of connection is devastating."

She looked up into his sorrowful chocolate eyes. "You know, don't you."

"Yeah, but we're not talking about me. Remember what you told me, that there's no time limit on grief, that no one has the right to tell you when you have to get over it and move on."

She heaved out a breath. "You're right, my beautiful genius. I wish there were shortcuts to all the negative emotions, so we could sail through them and be _done_ with it."

Spencer chuckled a little. "Me too, but I've learned that life isn't like that, my love."

She squeezed him tight around the middle. "Come, on. Let's have a bite of breakfast and then go for a walk."

"Do we have to," Spencer complained.

"Hey, we started a great habit in Vegas, walking every day. Let's not break it. The weather is great; the sun is shining in a sky that looks like someone turned over a beautiful blue bowl and enclosed the world."

"You have such a way with words," Spencer laughed.

Chriscelia grimaced. "Thanks, but I think I need to work on that description a little."

"Always the writer," Spencer observed with a grin and released her. "Let's go eat."

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Garcia folded the last of what she like to call her "unmentionables," and tucked them away into the top drawer of her dresser.

"There, the laundry is done, and it's time for me to think about tonight."

Sam had suggested a movie night and dessert, afterward, at his place. She needed to find her overnight bag, and decide which of her bedroom ensembles, was the sexiest. She thought for a minute, then decide on her black lace baby doll nighty. Sam loved black lace.

Her phone beeped, and she grinned at the caller id. "Hey, sweet cheeks. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Garcia. We're back."

" _Oh_ , that's wonderful news."

"I'm glad to be back."

"I know, sweetie. I'm glad your home where I can keep an eye on you."

"Garcia!"

"Don't " _Garcia,_ " me," she scolded. "I need to take care of you."

"Yes, I know."

"So, what do I owe the pleasure of this call, not that I don't love hearing from you, but I thought you'd be spending time with your lady-love."

"I am, and that's why I'm calling. I have an emergency, and only you can come to the rescue."

"What is it? Did something happen to Chriscelia? Oh…."

"No! She's all right, but it's her birthday, today and I just found out. I have no idea what to do, or what sort of gift to purchase."

"You came to the right place," Garcia said firmly. "You leave it to me."

"I didn't call you to do all the work, Garcia. I want to buy a gift for her, but I need a few ideas."

"As I said, you've come to the right place, sweet cheeks."

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"I don't understand why you won't tell my where we're going," Chriscelia said.

Reid started the car and pulled out into the late afternoon traffic. "I said it was a surprise," Spencer repeated.

"I told you, you don't have to do anything for my birthday. You're the most important, Spencer."

"No, I'm not," he disagreed and turned left at the first light. "If you're happy then I'm happy, Celia."

She reached over and slid her fingers through his wavy hair. "Don't do that while I'm driving," he ordered, "but remember your place for later."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and made him laugh. "I can't help it that you're so damn hot, babe. It's difficult to keep my hands to myself."

"You better try if you don't want us in a traffic accident."

"All right, I promise to be good," she said, primly, and folded her hands together in her lap.

They were silent as Spencer drove to the freeway and entered the traffic heading into Baltimore. Luckily, they were traveling opposite the rush hour traffic and made good time.

"I haven't been to Baltimore in a long time," Chriscelia exclaimed, happily. "Great idea, babe."

"Wait," Spencer said. "There's more than a trip to the city."

"I'm so excited," Chriscelia squealed. "What are we going to do, Spencer? Come on, babe, please tell me."

"You'll see."

She tried to pout, but her excitement kept a broad smile firmly in place. More importantly, Spencer was smiling in a way she hadn't seen in weeks. It was like all the worry in the world had lifted from his shoulders, and he was beginning to climb out of the black despair that had held him captive.

They turned right, and she realized that they were headed toward the Inner Harbor. "Oh, I love this part of Baltimore. Thank you!" She gushed as he pulled into the parking lot of an impressive looking hotel, The Pier 5 from Baltimore.

"Wow," Chriscelia said, enthusiastically. " _So_ beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," Spencer said.

He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. "Happy Birthday, Chriscelia."

"Thank you, Spencer. This is wonderful, but are you sure you want to stay in another hotel. We just got back from Vegas, and – "

He kissed her again. "I'm fine with this, ecstatic, in fact, because they have in-room massages and I know you'd love an hour with a professional masseuse."

"You'd hate it though, a stranger touching you like that."

"Don't worry about me," he assured her. "There's plenty to keep me happy."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Let's go then," she linked hands with him. "I can't wait to see the room."

He smirked at her. "I seem to remember someone promising me a little, "somethin' somethin'" this morning."

Chriscelia rolled her eyes. "Let me guess; you picked that up from Morgan."

Spencer winked at her. "Guilty."

"Remind me to hurt him later."

"Oh, now there's a visual."

She smacked his arm. "Come on, lover boy. Let's go check in and then we'll see what happens next."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n thank you all for your patience in waiting for this chapter. Real life got the best of me again. I do hope you were able to read the last two chapters as the alerts weren't working for a couple of weeks.**_

Chriscelia sighed, closed her eyes as the warm hands of her masseuse began kneading into her shoulders and across her back. She felt her muscle unknot as the oil smooth hands made their way over her torso and lower back.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," said Spencer.

She opened her eyes to see him take a seat on the sofa with three books stacked beside him. He wore a dark blue pullover shirt with khaki pants, once blue sock with little reproduction Tardis booths from Dr. Who. The sock on his right foot was white with musical notes. She giggled at the socks and smiled when Spencer winked at her.

"I am so relaxed," she sighed. "I may take a nap."

"Go ahead. You deserve it. I'm going to read."

Chriscelia realized that her eyes were more interested in remaining open to watch Spencer as he read. His hands fascinated her. They looked so delicate, but she knew they could be gentle and strong at the same time. She watched as one finger glided down a page, and then to the top of the next. She shivered a bit as she imagined that same finger sliding slowly between her breasts to her belly button and…she trembled and heart flashed over her face and into her gut.

 _Stop it! There's a stranger in the room, giving you a massage._

She closed her eyes but continued to imagine his hands on her body until the end of her massage. She barely heard the masseuse pack up and leave. She simply stared at her lover read until finally his eyes rose to her face and he grinned at her.

"Chriscelia, what are you thinking?"

"Guess," she said and dropped the white towel encircling her body.

"Come here," he said and tossed aside his book.

"Why don't you make me… come that is."

He held out his hand and tugged her between his parted legs. "It's a good thing your massage ended when it did because you looked _so_ good in that towel."

She sat on one of his legs and let her fingers slide down his chest to his zipper. She opened it and reached inside as he pulled her in for a kiss.

"Oh," she said happily. "I see someone's ready for some fun."

"Yes," he growled.

She straddled him and fisted her hands in his messy, wavy hair. "Touch me," she demanded and leaned into devour his mouth.

"I will," he whispered and groaned as she tugged on his hair.

"Now."

Their tongues battled as her hands yanked at his shirt and pulled it over his head. "Magic hands," she said and inhaled sharply as his fingers slid between them and found his favorite place. "God, yes," she cried out and nipped at his Adam's apple with her teeth. "Don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he breathed.

Some time later they lay tangled together on the couch. His hands played with her hair as she dozed. Her ability to make him forget everything but sensation and heat still confused and excited him. He looked at her face and thought of what his life might be like if they'd never met. He shuddered and tightened his arms around her. God, no, he wouldn't tempt fate by thinking about going through his life without her there to make him laugh.

"What are you thinking," she said drowsily.

"That I can't imagine my life without you."

She lifted her head and looked at him with her beautiful hazel eyes. "Don't try, because I'm _not_ going anywhere, Spencer Reid."

"I hope not," he said and caressed her cheek.

"You can _count_ on it, babe."

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Spencer caught her hand and held onto her fingers as they crossed the large room to a glass wall that held in thousands of gallons of water at The National Aquarium.

"Stop it," he laughed as she grinned at him. "I didn't mean I'd like to live in the Jurassic era."

"Hey, you're the one that was completely taken with its teeth. I say that anything with a bite radius large enough for someone your height to stand in, I don't want to meet."

He laughed. "How about the Peacock Mantis Shrimp?"

She eyed him irritably. "They're creepy looking with those bulbous eyes, and the red and green and blue legs. I say anything that can cause cavitation to their prey with one punch, freaks me out."

"Why?"

"The force of its punch makes the water boil. That's crazy."

"They can detect circular polarized light. That's pretty awesome."

"I don't know what that means," Chriscelia said.

"We'll it means that –"

"Stop right there, professor. I'm here to look at the pretty fish and sea life, _not_ attend a lecture."

He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "I will get you for that."

He responded by pulling her over to a pool of water in the center of the room where people were gathered around to watch dolphins play.

"Now this is my favorite part."

"You like dolphins," Reid asked and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, they're very intelligent you know. They have their own language, like whales."

As if he heard her, a dolphin surfaced and "talked" to them. Chriscelia laughed and clapped with some of the younger children.

"It's good to know you're in touch with your inner child."

"Yes," she said primly, and he smiled.

"Come on, let's go line up for the film on the Great White shark," he said excitedly.

She shook her head. "You're a strange man, Spencer Reid."

He kissed her cheek. "Yes, but you love me."

"Yes, I do."

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Spencer emerged from their bedroom dressed in a pair of blue slacks, a white shirt, and a fitted vest in blue, green and gold pinstripes, with matching tie and brand new blue converse shoes. "Looking good, G-man," Chriscelia purred.

"Really," he said.

She frowned at his tone. "Yes… You're _hot_ , Spencer Reid. _Believe_ it and strut your stuff."

He didn't smile, but his spine straightened a bit. "I'm glad you think so."

"I do, and my opinion is the _only_ one that matters."

"Yes, it is."

"Where are we going?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "I told you it's a surprise."

"What is with you and surprises?"

"I like to see the look in your eyes when you're surprised."

"Alright, let's get out of here."

Half an hour later, they parked in front of a building with the name "The Slipper Room." He got out and went around to open her door. "Here we are."

"What is this place?"

"You'll see."

He led her inside, and her eyes widened. They stood in a room with about one hundred seats, covered in red satin like an old-time theater, but smaller. It was nearly full when they arrived and found their seats.

"Did I tell you that you look lovely tonight."

"Thank you," she said and felt her cheeks go red.

She wore a dark purple tunic style blouse with white jeans and strappy heels. Her toenails matched the shirt, and she'd pulled up her hair into a high ponytail.

"You're welcome."

Ten minutes later the lights went down, and she realized that the actors were taping a radio show, like the old-time radio programs from the forties and fifties. It was called Fireside Mysteries and the show that was "The Disappearing Kiss." The story was about several people in a bar after closing, drinking, and talking about their experiences with disappearing people. It was sufficiently creepy and made her spine tingle.

"That was fun," she enthused when they left the theater.

"Yeah. I heard it about it on the radio, and I thought you'd like it because you have that Old-Time Radio app on your phone."

"It was almost as good as "Suspense."

"I'm glad. I was hoping you'd like it."

"My favorite was the story about the guy who stole the earrings and gave them to the woman, and when they kissed, he vanished into thin air."

"Yeah, that was great. It was like magic, and I have to wonder where he went."

"Thank you," she repeated. "I loved it."

"You want something to eat."

"Yes, please."

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Chriscelia stood on the balcony outside the bedroom of their suite looking up at the sky. She couldn't see the stars, too much light pollution, but the moon was full and bright. Arms came around her and hugged her close.

"Hey," Reid said.

"Hey."

"What're you thinking?"

"That this is the _best_ birthday I've ever had."

"I'm glad you're so happy."

She turned in his arms and looked up into his beautiful eyes. "I'm happy because you're smiling again, not because of all of this, although it's wonderful."

"I'm happy because you're here, with me, right now. You've seen me at my worst, and you still love me. You held me when I cried for my mother, and you make me laugh when I need it."

Tears filled her eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. "You're the most amazing man I've ever met."

"Hey, don't cry, Celia."

"I can't help it. You're so sweet."

He swallowed hard. "Chriscelia, there's something I want to ask you."

"You can ask me anything."

"First, I want to tell you that since the day I met you, I found the one thing in my life that's made it complete.

"Spencer, I'm nothing special– "

"Please let me finish. We met at a time when I didn't know if I'd find a way to live with the knowledge that my mother was slipping away from me. I didn't know I needed someone outside my job to be there for me. I didn't know I needed to be there for someone."

"Spencer, you don't have to say anything."

"Yes, I do. I want you to know how important you are to me. I know we've only known each other for a short time, but after mom died I…"

Chriscelia pushed some of his hair behind his ear and let her fingers caress his cheek and wipe away a glistening tear. "Hey, it's okay, babe."

"I started to think that I should reassess my life. I realized that I was taking everything for granted, that my mom would always be there, that I'd always have my team and that I didn't need anyone after Maeve died. I don't want to be complacent anymore, Chriscelia."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that I love you, Chriscelia. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you."

He let go of her hands and went down on one knee. He pulled a small, black ring box from his pocket and opened the lid. "Will you marry me?"

 _ **A/n I have The Old-Time Radio app, which is where I discovered "The Slipper Room," which is a real theater in New York City. They do productions called Fireside Mystery Theater**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n hello all. I want to thank all my loyal readers for your wonderful support of this story. This will be the last chapter. Never fear to Spencer and**_ Chriscelia _ **fans, for I have more planned for them. I'm ending this part of the story because I want them to start fresh now that Dianna has passed away. I'm still mapping out how the next chapter of their lives will go, so it may be a few weeks before you see the**_ new _ **story. The good news is that Adele the Muse is furious over the last season and the prison story. When Adele is pissed, she overflows with creative energy. So, look out. Now, please enjoy the last chapter, people.**_

Chriscelia's heart jumped into her throat and began to pound so hard; she became distinctly light-headed. "Marry you," she gasped as her legs trembled. "I need to sit."

Reid rose to his feet and guided her to one of the cushioned porch chairs. He sat her down and crouched beside her. "You okay."

"Yeah," she leaped at him and kissed his cheek then his lips until he couldn't draw breath.

"Is that a yes," he finally said, his heart thumping like a concert pianist's metronome.

"Yes," she shouted and kissed him again. "Yes, I _will_ marry you."

"That's a relief," he joked. "I thought you might pass out and then I'd have to wait for you to wake up to hear the answer and –"

"Shush," she said and put her hand over his mouth. "I want my engagement ring, lover man."

"Oh, right," he pushed it on her finger and her eyes filled with tears.

"It's so beautiful," she said breathlessly as the diamond caught the moonlight.

"I'm so glad you like it. I wasn't sure if I chose correctly."

"It's _perfect_ ," she whispered as tears cascaded over her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he said.

"It's happy tears, believe me."

"I love you," he said and kissed her gently, like the first kiss between two teenage kids.

"I love you two."

She stood up and grabbed his tie. "Now, I think we should go inside and celebrate."

"Yes, ma'am."

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Reid lay on his stomach as Chriscelia straddled his back and began the massage he'd refused from the hotel. Her hands slid over his shoulders, kneading into his back with a pressure that made him groan. "You're amazing," he said.

"You're the amazing one. I can't believe you planned all of this."

"Well, I did have a bit of help."

She massaged the back of his neck with her thumbs, and he moaned again. "Let me guess, Garcia."

"Yes, most of this was her idea, except for the proposal. It was a bit spur of the moment."

"When did you find time to shop? Her hands went into his hair and began massaging his scalp.

"This morning, while you were sleeping. There happens to be a mall here, and they have three different jewelry stores. I found what I wanted and returned before you woke."

"I thought it was strange you were up and dressed so early, but I approve of the result.

"Do you?"

"Yes, and to show you how much, I want you to turn over."

"Why?"

"Because this is a full-service massage if you know what I mean."

He turned over, and she yanked down the sheets from his nude body and straddled his hips. His eyes changed color, the pupils dilating until the irises were nearly black. "I like to watch your eyes when you're aroused; they remind me of a hawk about to strike."

"I never realized that sexual stimulation was part of a massage, maybe I'll think twice the next time I'm offered," he said and grinned up at her.

"Do **_not_ ** even think about, my love," she disagreed. "Only _I_ offer this type of massage therapy.

"And what exactly does your therapy involve," he squeaked as her hands slid up and down his chest.

"Well, I did my research and orgasms are very efficient at relieving stress and promoting relaxation."

"Are they?"

"Why don't we do a little experiment and you tell me."

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"So, what do you think of my theory," Chriscelia said, hours later as they lay tangled in cotton sheets and drinking champagne Reid had ordered from room service.

"I think we need to do more research," he said and jerked away when she attempted to smack his arm. "Watch it, or you'll spill the champagne."

"You had better watch it," she warned. "We are _done_ , my friend. I'm completely worn out."

"I'm feeling much more relaxed."

"I'm glad. You get top marks for stamina after this afternoon and tonight."

"Thank you."

She reached over him to set her glass on the end table next to the bed. She ran a finger down his cheek, then kissed him. "Thank you for today, babe. We made some wonderful memories. I love you so much."

"I love you too, soon to be Mrs. Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Chriscelia Reid. I think I _love_ it."

She admired her ring as he folded her into his arms and began to stroke her hair. She yawned and laughed. "I think I need sleep."

"Me too."

He reached for the light and switched it off. "Thank you for changing my life," he murmured and fell into sleep.

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Reid dropped his bag on the floor of Chriscelia's bedroom after they returned from Baltimore. "I'm beat," he said and grinned at her.

"Why is it you need a vacation from your vacation?" Chriscelia said and hurried into the bathroom.

"I don't know."

When she emerged, she'd changed from a blouse and cargo pants to a tee shirt and sleep pants. "I know it's the middle of the morning, and it's our last day before getting back to real life, but I just want to sleep."

"I don't have any problem with that idea."

She turned down the bed, closed the blinds and drew the blackout curtains she'd bought to help with the sun entering her south facing bedroom windows. She snapped on the bedside light and turned down the temperature control to her furnace. She climbed into bed just as Spencer emerged in an old blue tee shirt and white boxer shorts.

"Looking good," she whistled.

He blushed, and he laughed. "You always know how to keep me off balance," he said and climbed into bed.

She snuggled up to him and sighed. "Now this is something I could get used to very quickly."

"You better, because we're going to be together for a long time."

"Forever," Chriscelia said and yawned. "I'm tired."

"Then go to sleep," he encouraged as he hugged her tight. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

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"Are you sure this is a good idea," she said as Reid guided his car off the freeway and onto the city streets leading to JJ and Will's home.

"Yes," he said. "Everyone is excited to see you."

"I know, but I'm still nervous. What if Henry and Michael don't like me."

"They are going to love you," Reid promised.

She looked out the window instead of meeting his eyes. "I wish it wasn't raining."

"It's going to be okay," he soothed. "JJ moved the party inside, and I'm sure the storm won't last forever."

"This is why I don't like early April, the rain, and the constantly changing weather."

"I think you're making a big deal out of the weather because you're nervous."

She glared at him. "Alright, so I'm a little nervous, Mr. Profiler. Henry and Michael are a huge part of your life. If I don't hit it off with them…"

"I told you that they will love you, Celia. Just be yourself, and you'll do fine."

"I hope you're right."

Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of a two-story home with white siding and a long porch that ran the length of the house. She sighed, pulled up the hood on her raincoat and got out of the car when Spencer opened the door for her. He held an umbrella for the short dash to the porch. She shoved back her hood as he rang the bell. He shot her a smile, and she was about to take his hand when the door opened.

A small blond haired boy that had his mother's eyes greeted them happily. "Uncle Spencer."

"Hey, Henry."

"Unca Pence," said another little voice, this time from a small boy who toddled forward clinging to his mother's hand.

"Michael, how are you, bud?"

Spencer crouched down and hugged both boys. "I missed you, Uncle Spencer," said Henry.

"I know, I missed you too."

"Hey, Spence," JJ said and smiled at Chriscelia. "Hello, Chriscelia. Come on in you two."

They entered the living room, Reid with Henry holding his hand and Michael hugging one of his legs so that he could hardly walk.

"Thanks for inviting us over."

"It's no big deal. We've missed seeing you for brunch."

"Spencer," Will greeted as he emerged from the kitchen. "It's good to see you. I'm sorry to hear about your mother."

"Thanks, Will."

"Is your Mommy sick?" Henry asked, his blue eyes large and concerned for his uncle.

"Henry, we'll talk about it later," JJ admonished.

"No, JJ, it's okay. Come sit with me, Henry."

He took Michael and Henry to the sofa. He arranged the toddler on his lap and patted the seat next to him for Henry. Chriscelia sat on the other side of Reid. JJ and Will took chairs.

"Henry, do you remember when Terry's dog was hit by a car, and he was sad because Scruffy died."

"Yeah."

Michael tugged on Spencer's hair. He gently removed it and kissed the boy's cheek. "Well, every living thing has to die, including people we love like mothers. My mother got sick one night, and she never woke up."

Henry hugged Reid's arm. "I'm sorry, Uncle Spencer."

"It's okay, because my mother loved me, and I love her. I'll always remember all the good times we had together whenever I feel sad."

"Mommy," Henry said to JJ. "Can I give my stuffed dragon to Uncle Spencer?"

"Why do you want to give me your best friend?" Reid asked as tears filled the little boy's eyes.

"You're sad, and I want you to feel better."

"Oh, Henry, you're the sweetest little man in the world, but you hold on to him. All I need is you and Michael to make me feel better, okay."

"Okay."

"Good, now I want you to meet my friend. Her name is Chriscelia."

Henry looked at Chriscelia through his black rimmed glasses. "Hello, Chrissy," he said, and she grinned. "Hello, Henry, I'm so glad to meet you. Your Uncle Spencer has told me so much about you."

"Do you like dinosaurs?"

"Yes," Chriscelia said. "I think they're cool."

"You do?"

"Yes, can I see some of your friends?"

Henry looked at his mom. "Go ahead, but we'll be eating in about ten minutes."

Chriscelia followed Henry. Michael struggled down from Reid's lap and followed his brother over to the chest that stored all their toys. Reid watched Chriscelia get down on the floor and play with the boys. He winked at her when she looked over at him and smiled.

"She's great, Spencer," JJ said. "I can tell the boys like her."

"She was a little freaked out about meeting them."

"It's a little like meeting the parents only kids can be brutal," Will commented and they laughed.

"I think you're right."

"Now," JJ said and grinned at him. "Tell me about the smile on your face and the new ring on Chriscelia's hand."

"And she says I can't turn off the urge to profile," Reid complained.

"No excuses, spill."

"We're getting married."

"Oh, Spence, that's wonderful."

JJ leaped up and hurried over to hug him tight. "I knew she was the one for you."

"Congratulations," Will said. "She seems like a good woman."

"She is," Reid said. "I know it's only been three months, but –"

"When it's right, it's right," Will said. "I know that from experience."

JJ hugged her husband. "Yes, we do. When is the wedding?"

Reid laughed, and Chriscelia looked up at him. He winked at her, she blushed and turned back to the boys. "Slow down, JJ. We just got engaged a week ago."

"You know women," Will said, and JJ shoved him away. "You put a ring on it, and they go right into Bridezilla mode."

"Excuse me, but I never acted like a prima donna bride," JJ defended. "I didn't have a chance, what with you guys plotting that surprise wedding with Rossi."

"You think he'll spring for mine," Spencer wondered hopefully.

JJ smacked him on the shoulder. "You're terrible, Spence."

"Hey, why not!"

At that moment, a timer rang in the kitchen. "Oh, the quiche is done. You're going to love it, Spence. Will's been perfecting his signature brunch offering."

"Can't wait," Spencer enthused.

"Boys, it's time to eat."

"Mom, can I sit next to Chrissy."

"If she says it's okay."

Henry looked expectantly at Chriscelia, whose hazel eyes danced. "I think that can be arranged."

"Want sit by Cewa," said little Michael.

"And you were worried," Reid said and kissed her.

"Ew… yucky, Uncle Spencer," Henry said.

Chriscelia laughed and shook her head. Reid reached back and took her free hand. "Welcome to the family," he teased.

"What a family it is," she shot back and followed him into the warmth of the kitchen with the rain tapping on the windows. Yes, this was quite a family, and she looked forward to every day that waited just over the horizon.

THE END


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